Lock Your Doors
by MR J.H.F
Summary: In a quiet sub-urban town of Harchester Hill, Alvin dies in a gas explosion, the police suspect arson. The murder investigation Team is called in. This case takes on a new and terrible twist when a local villain is Questioned. A witness has been Captured. Jeanette must dance with the devil and discover if it was a coincidence - or cold blooded murder. RATED M FOR STRONG GORE.
1. Intruders

'All things that we clasp and cherish pass like dreams we may not keep.' -

**- Heinrich Heine**

_**1: Intruders**_

****The glass cutter made a soft scratching sound. Slowly Melvin dislodged the panel with the tips of his gloved fingers and reached in to undo the window catch. His companion's lanky frame hovered awkwardly on the sill as he swung his legs over. A flash of torchlight revealed they were in a kitchen.

'Hungry?' Ray grinned and nodded at a packet of chocolate hobnobs beside the kettle. Melvin put his finger to his lips. Ray instantly froze, his eyes wary. The distant hum of his car was carried in on the breeze from the open window. Inside the house all was quiet. They made their way into a broad hallway. Melvin squinted up at his companion, then turned and led the way up the stairs. Silence.

They went into a study. The beam from Melvin's torch hovered over a desk. Ray seized a digital camera and shoved it into a khaki bag slung across his shoulder. The top drawer of the desk was locked. Melvin bent down and picked at the catch with practised fingers. It slid open with a click.

'Jackpot,' he whispered with barely concealed excitement. He drew out a leather jewellery case and opened the lid. They caught a glimpse of stones, glittering red and green and white. 'Is it the real thing?' Ray's hood had fallen back to reveal a mess of sandy coloured hair above bulging watery eyes.

'Let's get it home for a closer look.'

As they made their way back to the stairs, Ray grabbed Melvin's arm. 'What?'

'I thought I heard footsteps.' They stared at one another, straining to hear. The house was quiet. They edged forwards. The bag jingled softly on Ray's back. They reached a bend on the landing, and a voice startled them.

'Elenor? Is that you, Elenor?'

At the same time, the overhead light flicked on, making them blink, An old lady was standing in front of them, her figure silhouetted in an open doorway. She gasped audibly as she took in the two figures staring at her across the landing 'Who are you?' she rasped. Her eyes glared wildly at them. One hand was pressed against her chest, the other pushed at the door.

Melvin leapt forward and seized the old woman by the arm. 'I'm calling the police,' she faltered, but her legs buckled.

'Shit,' Ray cried out. 'She's seen us. Let's get out of here.'

'First things first.' Melvin lifted the woman off her feet. Shouldering Ray to one side, he strode past, and hurled his burden with a grunt. They watched her crumple and disappear down the stairs.

A few muffled thumps.

Silence.

'What did you do that for?' Ray's face was rigid with terror. 'Stupid cow shouldn't have put the light on. Don't worry Melvin grinned. 'She can't identify us now. Come on, retard, let's get out of here.'

A shudder ran through Ray's long frame. He leapt forward and bounded down the stairs. His boot accidentally kicked the woman who lay, motionless, at the foot of the stairs. Her body jolted at the impact. Charging down behind Ray, Melvin almost tripped over her inert figure. Struggling to regain his balance, he knocked into Ray. The bag slipped from Ray's shoulder. It fell with a clatter that seemed to reverberate around the walls. Gold chains and coloured jewels spewed out of it.

Their feet thumped on the carpet. Ray reached the front door first. He twisted the handle. The door didn't budge. it was double locked. He kicked at it and swore aloud. They turned and ran back along the hall, across the kicken and out of the open window into the cool of the night air.

_**Mr J.H.F: So there it is chapter one, the chapter was going to be longer but I decided two cut it into two chapters insted because when you write shorter chapters , the readers beleive they have read more. what? it's true! If you are wondering what this have to do with the chipmunks just keep reading and you will find out. (it's a crime story I can't tell you everything =) .**_


	2. Another Chance?

_**2: Another Chance?**_

When they reached home Whitney was awake, shaking, in her chair.

'Make us a mug of tea,' Melvin grunted. Whitney scurried to the kitchen, head lowered, shoulders hunched. Melvin turned to Ray and held out a hand. Melvin's face darkened and seemed to swell.

'I don't know what happened , Mel. I was scared. It must've slipped off my shoulder back in the house, when we were doing a runner. I reckon I dropped it in the hall, when... the old woman...'

'You left it behind?! All the gear?'

'I'd have gone back for it if I'd known.'

Melvin's voice was low, measured. 'You retard,' he said. 'Was there anything in the bag that could be traced back to you?'

'No.' Ray's face shone, sweaty. 'I swear it, Melvin. I picked it up at the market like you said and I never touched it, only with gloves on. I did everything just like you said, Mel.'

'Like I said?' Melvin was yelling now. 'If you'd listened to me, you wouldn't have just lost us a small beeding fortune!'  
Whitney came in and set two steaming mugs down on the table. 'Give it a rest, Melvin,' she said.  
Melvin spun round. 'Or what?' he roared. Whitney cowered away and sat down. 'You still here?' Melvin turned his attention back to Ray. 'We're finished.'

'Give us another chance,' Ray pleaded. 'Just one more chance.'

'Another chance?' Melvin mimicked. 'He wants another chance Whit.'

'He can piss off,' she replied. Ray's eyes met hers in a cold stare. Her head drooped. She stared down at her fingers, picking uncontrollably at her sleeves. Melvin turned back to Ray. 'You want another chance,' he sneered. 'Who do you think you are? I'll tell you. You're a fucking retard. That's what you are. Ray the retard.'

Ray stepped forward, fists clenched, then subsided, muttering.

'What's that you said?' Melvin asked.

'I said you can leave it out.' Ray flinched as Melvin lit a cigarette.

'Supposing I was to give you another chance,' Melvin said slowly. 'How do I know you're going to keep your head this time?' Ray kept his eyes fixed on Melvin who flicked the lighted match at Ray's face. Ray jerked his head to one side. The match fell harmlessly on the floor. 'The thing is,' Melvin went on, 'that was a balls up. What was it?'

'A balls up,' Ray repeated, scrowling at the floor.

'Right. And do you know why?' Ray shrugged, staring at his large scuffed shoes. 'panic' Melvin answered his own question. 'You panicked. You forgot the exit plan. The first rule. The first thing we do next time, soon as we're in, we find the back door. That was your job, retard.' He stood up and pointed his cigarette at Ray who took a step back. He stared at the dusting of dandruff on Melvin's shoulders. 'First we unlock the back door, then we look about us and see what we can find. That way, we can split, no sweat. No flapping about. Next time we might not be so lucky. We've got to be careful. Got it?'

Ray nodded in relief. 'I'll make it up to you, Melvin. I promise. 'I'll make it up to you.'

'We were lucky to get out in time,' Melvin went on.

'Yeah,' Ray agreed.' 'We were lucky.'

'But we've been clever too,' Melvin added.

'Yeah, we've been clever.'

'We're going to do one of the big properties up on the top of the hill,' Melvin was suddenly brisk. 'You with me then, retard?'  
Ray nodded. 'Those big white houses at the top of the hill.'

'Must be loaded,' Ray said slowly. His bulging eyes lit up. 'Let's do it.'

'Do you think you ought?' Whitney asked. 'They might have a dog. What if they've got a dog, Mel?'

'What are you on about, you stupid cow? We're just going to relieve those rich bastards of some of their dosh. They're so loaded, they don't know what to spend it on next.' Melvin laughed loudly. He turned on Whitney. 'Why don't you keep your nose out of this, you stupid bitch? Go to bed.' He cuffed her on the side of the head as she walked past. She stumbled at the blow but recovered her balance and continued on her way without demur.

Ray laughed nervously. What's she on about, What dogs?'

Mevin turned. 'You got a problem?'

No, nothing Mel, Ray muttered. His ears went bright red.

'I wonder why she stays with you, that's all. You're a vicious bastard.' The words burst out of him. He stood, mouth slack, his long legs tensed for flight.

To Ray's relief, Melvin sat down and took a long drag of his cigarette. 'I'll never understand it myself,' he agreed. He leaned back and blew ragged smoke rings at the ceiling. 'A looker like Whitney. She could have anyone.' He squinted sourly up at Ray. 'Don't you go getting any funny ideas.' Ray shook his head. There was no need to explain what he thought of Whitney. He had seen the filthy smack head naked, he walked in on her in the bathroom by mistake and recoiled at the sight of her scraggy tits and white belly. She hadn't even known he was there. Melvin was barking if he thought Ray fancied Whitney. He might as well shag a dead fish.

'She's out of my league, Melvin,' he lied with inspired cunning.

'Too good for me,' he added, making sure.

Melvin grunted and tossed his cigarette on the floor. 'We're agreed then,' he said treading the stub into the carpet.

'It won't happen agian. I won't let you down again,' Ray babbled. 'It was only a bag. I'll get another one.'

'It's only a bag,' Melvin mimicked him. 'Retard.'

'I'll make it up to you,' Ray muttered, under his breath. He had a plan. He was going to surprise Melvin by pulling off a job all by himself.

'What are you grinning at?'

'Nothing Melvin. I was just thinking about those houses on Harchester Hill.' Ray hung his head, hugging his secret to himself. He would show Melvin. He could be clever too. He didn't know how he was going to do it, But he'd think of something.

_**I know, I know. The chipmunks arn't even metioned yet, but be patient because they start to make an appearance in the next chapter.**_

_**And please review and if you have any questions P.M me. Thanks for reading.**_


	3. Eleanor's Discovery

_**3: Eleanor's Discovery**_

Eleanor Miller checked on her guardian three times a week, Miss Miller was mobile, but it had became a major excursion for her to leave the house. Eleanor tried to be a good daughter. She always brought her food and small toiletries so Miss Miller didn't have to go out if she was feeling tired. It was heartbreaking when she was housebound, worse when she found out. Several times neighbours had found her wandering in the street, unable to remember where she lived. There would't always be responsible people around when she got lost. But if Eleanor was anxious about Miss Miller going out, she was also concerned about her being alone in the house.

'It's a nightmare,' she confided her partner Theodore.

'I have to take care of everything. Pay the bills, the cleaner, the gardener, everything.'

'You ought to move her into a home.' Theodore suggested.

'I know. I've tried, but she refuses to leave the house. She's lived there for over sixty years.'

Theodore whistled. 'Bloody hell. Even so, you ought to move her. For her own good.'

Eleanor sighed. 'I wish I could, but... you don't know Norma Miller. You can't tell her anything. God knows, I've tried.'

* * *

On Friday morning, Eleanor was late. She barely had time to call on Miss Miller and almost gave it a miss. She cursed when her guardian didn't answer the door. She had to fish in her purse for the key. It turned stiffly in the lock.

Miss Miller lay sprawled in a heap at the foot of the stairs. Strings of fake pearls and diamonds were tangled together across her torso, a gold chain straddled her face. Eleanor felt her legs trembling as she approached and stared down at her.

'Norma?' she whispered. 'Norma?' She crouched down. She didn't want to touch her. The old woman lay, rigid, her legs splayed, her head twisted at an awkward angle so her glassy eyes appeared to be staring straight at her in blind accusation. There was nothing she could do. Nothing anyone could do. She reached out and touched Norma's eyelid. No response. She wondered if medical attention might help, but she sat on her heels for what felt like hours, unable to move.

When she finally stood up, she noticed a blood stain on the carpet. A wave of nausea hit her. She turned and hurried back down the hall, and threw up over the front step.

_**I know, it's a short chapter but at least it's interesting.**_  
_**Please review and P.M me if you have questions. (I mean non- rhetorical)**_  
_**Thanks for reading, and make sure to also follow if you like this story. Peace out**_ !


	4. Funeral

_**4: Funeral**_

Jeanette glanced around the kitchen.

Brittany bridled, misunderstanding the expression on her sister's face. 'There's no need to look so disapproving,' she snapped. 'Not everyone's as anal as you.' Jeanette smiled as Brittany seized a damp rag and swiped at a patch of butter on the table, smearing crumbs. 'Oh sod it. Let's go in the other room.' As though that would be any better.

Over the years Jeanette had grown used to the choas that surrounded Brittany. Looking around at the jumble of clothes, Teenage books, make-up and women's magazines. Jeanette lost count of the number of times she saved Brittany from detention by lending her sister books, PE kit, or homework to copy.

'So what's the problem this time?' Brittany asked. She swept a pile of towels off a chair so Jeanette could sit down.

'I thought you were going to Dubrovnik with Simon. I thought you said it was all booked.'

'It was. It is.'

'So...?

Jeanette shrugged. 'I'm not sure I want to go away right now.'

Her sister let out an exaggerated sigh. 'It's a bit late to be having second thoughts, isn't it? I thought you liked Simon. Why did you agree to go away with him if you don't like him?'

'Of course I like him. I really like him. But -'

'But what?'

'I've already had to take time off-'

'For our Norma's funeral. That's hardly a holiday. And in any case, one thing's got nothing to do with the other. If anything, it's even more reason for you to go away. Look, you've booked this trip to Dubrovnik, haven't you? You've paid for it. For goodness sake, give yourself a break. You're entitled to a holiday. We're not getting any younger. And it's not healthy to be so obsessed with your work.'

'I'm not obsessed with my work. I happen to believe it's important, that's all.'

'Self-important more like.'

'That's not fair. Police murder enquiries protect everyone.'

'Oh cut the pompous crap. So you're a detective inspector. Well, good for you. You work on a Murder Investigation Team. You make a difference to people's lives and help to make a better society for everyone. I'm not saying you don't. But what about your life? You've finally met someone you like. At least give him a chance. It'll be a break if nothing else. You need to get away. You look terrible. Understandably. You have just pratically lost your mother.'

She patted Jeanette's hand sympathetically and Jeanette sighed. She couldn't even tell her sister how she felt about Norma's death.

* * *

From an early age Jeanette had been aware that her other sister, Eleanor, was very close to Miss Miller. As they grew up, her sister's life followed a similar pattern to their gaurdian. Jeanette, independent, ambitious, hadn't married or produced precious children. Miss Miller had never openly criticised the life choices Jeanette made, but nothing Jeanette achieved ever seemed to please her. Norma had greeted the news of Jeanette's promotion to detective inspector with congratulations but she was more interested in hearing about her granddaughter.

'I'm a detective inspector, Norma,' Jeanette had wanted to shout. 'I've worked hard for this. It means something. It matters.'  
But Miss Miller was speaking to Chloe. 'You're going to learn the flute? How wonderful!'

'How wonderful,' Jeanette had echoed, smiling at her young niece.

When Norma died unexpectedly, Jeanette felt crushed by regret that she had never tried to improve their relationship. Now it was too late. The funeral passed in a blur. A chill wind gusted across the cemetery making Jeanette's eyes water. She glanced around the drab assembly of mourners. Eleanor, black coated, leaned on her husband, shaking with grief. Unmoved, Jeanette watched the wooden casket disappear from view. Her sadness had given way to a dull anger. Miss Miller never really cared for her.

The ceremony over, the mourners went to Theodore and Eleanor's house. Time gathered dust while Jeanette engaged in small talk with vaguely familiar relatives.

'You remember me, don't you, Jeanette?'

'Yes, of course,' Jeanette lied.

'Poor Norma'

Jeanette circulated, clutching a glass of wine.

'Wasn't it a lovely funeral?'

'Didn't Eleanor do everything beautifully?'

'Those lilies.'

'You know she saw to everything herself?'

'Well, you couldn't expect Jeanette to-' Catching sight of Jeanette, the speaker pressed thin lips together. Jeanette turned away, pretending she hadn't heard.

* * *

'Thank God they've all gone,' Jeanette exclaimed when she finally fell into an armchair and kicked her shoes off.

Eleanor burst into tears. 'I'm sorry,' she mumbled, dropping her face into her hands. 'I miss her so much.'

Jeanette wondered if working with other people's anguish had dulled her capacity to experience it first hand. While Eleanor was inconsolable, Jeanette felt only a guilty impatience to return to work. 'When's Chloe coming back? I'm -' She almost said she was dying to see her niece. Eleanor had decided that her daughter was too young to attend the funeral. 'I can't wait to see her.'

Eleanor blew her nose. 'Yes, it's been a while since you were here. You won't believe how much she's grown. Seven going on seventeen, You will stay her tonight, won't you? I know you're buzy, but it would be nice to see more of you, and I'm not saying it just for my sake. I know Chloe would like to spend more time with you. She's growing up so fast.'

'Yes, I'd like that. I know I've been preoccupied with work lately, but I will make more of an effort.' She studied her sister. Other than their pale comlexions, they weren't alike. Jeanette had always envied Eleanor her ash blonde hair, fine and naturally wavy. Jeanette's hair was coarse and straight, so dark it was almost black.

'We've only got each other now,' Eleanor said.

'I'll change.' Jeanette promised out loud. 'I want to spend more time with you.'

'Yes, this makes you think, doesn't it? None of us know how much time we've got.' Eleanor sniffed.

Chloe's return lightened the mood. She came running in, pigtails bouncing, and flung herself at Jeanette. 'Are we going shopping, Aunty Jean?'

Jeanette smiled. 'Not this time, Chloe. But soon, I promise.'

'Don't pester Aunty Jean or she won't buy you any more presents,' Eleanor scolded.

Chloe sunggled down on the sofa beside Jeanette and prattled about her best friend. She kept up her chatter throughout supper. When Chloe finally went to bed Eleanor broke down in tears again. Jeanette reached for another bottle of wine.

'You'll regret it in the morning,' her sister warned her.

'Haven't you had enough?'

'I'm not driving, and it's not as if I'm on duty.'

'Your all important duty.'

'Here, let me,' Theodore seized the bottle corkscrew from Jeanette.

'You need some coffee,' Eleanor snapped. 'For God's sake Jeanette, we buried our mother today. Show some respect.'

'Respect the dead.' For the first time that day, Jeanette felt like weeping. 'That's all I ever bloody do. I spend my whole life respecting the dead.'

'Coffee,' her brother-in-law said firmly. He stood up and took the bottle from Jeanette.

'You'll feel terrible in the morning,' Eleanor said. She was crying again.

'I feel terrible anyway.' Jeanette felt queasy, yearning for a grief she didn't feel.

'Your mother's dead, you unnatural bitch,' she muttered to herself as she climbed into bed. In her mind, a small voice answered. So what?  
When Jeanette opened her eyes the next morning, her head felt as though someone was thumping it with a bottle. Groaning, she rolled out of bed and kept her eyes shut as she felt around for her clothes.

'So I did suffer when Norma died, after all,' she thought sourly.

_**Well that's it for Chapter 4 !**_  
_**By the way It would be really nice if you guys nominated for "The Alvin and the chipmunks FanFiction Awards 2012" It is a contest that I am hosting. For more info go on my profile page. Thanks.**_

_**And thanks for reading this story aswell, and make sure to review**_ !


	5. Brittany

_**5: Brittany**_

'Slow down. You're making me nervous,' Alvin said. Brittany jammed her foot on the accelerator. 'Slow down.' The car jerked forward.  
'He can't even be civil,' Brittany fumed. 'From the first moment he set eyes on me, he resented me. Well, the feeling's mutual.'

'It's me you married, not him. And I love you.'

'I've never been good enough for you, as far as he's concerned. Who does he think he is, speaking to me like that?'

'I appreciate your keeping your temper with him,' Alvin said humbly. He stared at the streetlights zipping past and waited for his wife's temper to cool. Brittany was never angry for long. 'He's never liked me. I don't know why we have to go and see him every week. Every bloody Sunday. And he's still not satisfied. What more does he want?' They both knew the answer.

Whenever they visited him, Dave always harped on about having children. 'It doesn't do to leave it too late. It's not natural. It causes all sorts of problems. And I'm here to take care of the baby whenever you want to go back to work. I know some women prefer not to look after their own children these days. Best leave the upbringing in capable hands. All these new ideas they have nowadays, they don't do a child any good. Look at how the youngsters behave these days. It's not surprising, left to train themselves.

Brittany wasn't thinking about starting a family. When she did, she would be back at work within six months, with a nanny at home. She would swing before she let her farther-in-law care for her children.

'He's on his own. He's lonely,' Alvin murmured, lighting up a cigarette.

'That's no excuse for being rude.' Brittany eased her foot off the accelerator and glanced across at her husband. It wasn't Alvin's fault. 'It's hard for you, being stuck in the middle,' she apologised. 'He is your step farther. I shouldn't go on about him like that.'

Alvin shrugged. 'Dave brings it on himself. I'm with you now. If you want to stop going to see him... Well, you're the only one I want. You know that.'  
Brittany smiled. 'And you're the only person who matters in my life,' she said fiercely, 'the only one.'

* * *

Absorbed in computers, Brittany had never considered herself lonely. When a girl at the office had issued a blanket invitation to a Christmas party, Brittany hadn't even replied. Parties held no appeal for her anymore. The other girl paused when she happened to walk past Brittany's workstation the afternoon of the party.

'You coming tonight?' she asked. Flattered by her collague's interest, Brittany accepted the invitation.

Brittany regretted her impulse as soon as she arrived. Everyone in the room seemed to be talking. No one acknowledged her arrival. She didn't understand why she had been invited. She stood in a corner, pressing her back against the wall, uncomfortable with the noise and smell of so many people crammed into one small room. It was complete waste of her time. There was an update waiting for her to install at the office, where she could have been working uninterrupted. She turned to leave, and bumped into a old friend.

'Sorry,' she muttered. Brittany then became aware of the figure stood in front of her.

'Alvin ?'

'Brittany?'

'What are you doing here?' asked Brittany in curiosity.

'Oh, it'a a stupid work thing. I don't even know anyone here,' he blurted out. She heard the panic in his voice and hesitated.

'I don't know why I came,' she replied.

Alvin asked about her role in the company and they discussed work for a while. With music thumping, conversation was difficult. 'It's so stuffy in here,' she complained. She would have gone home but didn't want to be rude.

'We could go somewhere else?' Alvin suggested. She felt an unfamiliar thrill and wondered if he was coming on to her. 'I mean, for a coffee or something. Or a drink. There's a pub round the corner. I mean, if you don't mind.

They left the party together and went for a drink and discovered they worked for the same company. 'Funny we've never met before,' they agreed.

'I don't really leave my desk,' he admitted.

'Me neither.'

'We're there to work,' Alvin said. Brittany nodded seriously.

After a couple of months Alvin took her home to reunite her with Dave. Brittany wasn't clever at reading people, but she recognised the elder man's hostility straight away.

* * *

'Your're imagining it,' Alvin insisted. 'Dave's not like that.'

'You're a substitute for a little child ,' Brittany told him, with rare insight. 'You live in the same house, you eat together every night, you even go on holiday together. He'll never let you go.'

'That's nonsense,' he replied, 'because I intend to live with you, as my wife.'

'Do I have a say in this?' Brittany asked, smiling.

* * *

When Brittany announced her promotion, Dave was shocked. 'What do you mean, you might have to go to work on Sundays? You always come and see me on Sundays. It's the weekend. No one works on Sundays.'

'I'm only on call. Chances are they'll never need me on a Sunday. I'm only on call every other night and it's only on alternate weekends.'

'Can't someone else do it?' her farther-in-law asked.

'Tell them you're engaged on Sundays. I'm sure they can manage without you. It's hardly life and death, is it? it's only computers.'

Brittany explained that the printers had to be kept working round the clock churning out bank statements, pay slips and other essential documents.

'Nonsense,' Dave interrupted. 'It's nothing that can't wait till Monday morning. What if there was a powercut?'' His eyes gleamed as he slid a slice of pie on to his son's plate. He lit another cigarette and waved the glowing tip in the air in protest. 'You'll have to come here later on, when your office is closed.'

'I may be called out at night,' Brittany said, irritated by her farther-in-law's interference. 'I may have to work all night.' Dave stared at Brittany, dumbstruck, cake slice in hand.

'You're a married woman.'

_**Well that's if for chapter 4, sorry if they are any spelling mistakes or anything like that, because it is 1 AM in the uk and I am really, really tierd.**_  
_**Anyway please review and PM me if you have questions.**_  
_**Thanks for reading, and I hope to see you soon, till then, bye !**_


	6. Dubrovnik

_**6: Dubrovnik**_

The heat in Dubrovnik was debilitating. Beneath the heavy scent of oleanders a stench of drains lingered. Pink flowering bushes and purple boughs of bougainvillea hung bright against white washed walls. Jeanette followed Simon gratefully into the shade of an arch at the side of a square where tourists gathered to drink from a central fountain.

Jeanette screwed her eyes up against the glare of sunlight and watched pigeons perch on top of the fountian. She was aware of Simon's presence at her side. She could feel the warmth of his arm almost touching hers and breathed in the scent of his aftershave.

'I don't think I'll risk that,' she screwed her nose up at the fountain. 'Like drinking pigeon piss.' Tiny lines around his eyes crinkled as Simon smiled down at her. The heat of the day softened slightly as the afternoon strolled towards evening and they climbed up on to the ramparts to view the city of terracotta roofs spread out beneath them in the soft heat haze. Jeanette turned and gazed down at the sea. Flecks of sunlight flickered on the water like fairy lights, winking up at her.

'It's beautiful, Mark,' she murmured.

Words once spoken couldn't be unsaid.

'What?' She didn't answer. 'Did you just call me Mark?'

Jeanette hesitated. Simon knew that she had lived with someone for six years, but she couldn't remember if she had told him her ex was called Mark.

'A mark,' she stammered stupidly. 'There's a mark.'

Flustered, she rubbed at Simon's shoulder. He shrugged and turned away from her feeble lie. The moment was tainted.

Staying in Dubrovnik felt like stepping back in time, a world away from the stresses of her normal day's work: studying crime scenes, reading post mortem reports, observing bodies laid on cold slabs, interviewing suspects, reading witness statements and the endless paperwork that accumulated at every step of the process.

Jeanette revelled in the sense of purpose her job on the Murder Investigation Team gave her but, along with her colleagues, deplored the pointless paperwork demanded by bureaucrats who had probably never seen a cadaver, let alone felt a thrill of adrenaline at the start of a case. If they had, they wouldn't care whether officers filled in forms or not, only about putting the killers behind bars.

_**Yes I know It's another short chapter!**_  
_**Some of you will be wondering about Alvin and Brittany but don't worry they will be back soon,I promise. So anyway please review and PM me if you want. I'll will see you around. Bye.**_


	7. Whitney

_**6: Whitney**_

It was dark when Whitney woke up. She didn't know what time it was. A streetlamp cast a dim light into the room. Although the television had been switched off she stared at the screen for a few moments. In the silence the house was making strange noises. She hauled herself stiffly out of her chair and made her way quietly upstairs. Melvin didn't like it when she woke him up.

She stole into the bedroom. The bed was empty. She patted the covers tentatively to make sure. If she woke him up, he'd be angry, but at least she wouldn't be alone with the noises and the darkness. He wasn't there. She turned the light on. A naked bulb threw stark shadows round the room. Her own face stared at her from the mirror, white and misty. She fumbled for a cigarette. It took several attempts to light a match: she was shaking by the time she finally inhaled.

The door to Ray's bedroom creaked. Whitney peered inside. His bed was empty too. She took a few steps into the room and dropped ash on to the pillow. Serve him right. Before Ray came to live in the house, Melvin used to take her out with him. Now it was all Ray, Ray, Ray. She dragged frantically at her cigarette and flicked more ash on to Ray's pillow. She hoped it would choke him.

A blade of pain sliced through her head. Her legs shook. Her heart was pounding. Alone in the house, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She stood very still, not daring to breathe. The house was silent.

'Silly,' she mouthed. If she showed she didn't care, the footsteps would go away.

Melvin would have laughed at her. 'There's nothing there,' he'd say. Whitney waited. It was all right for Melvin, but you couldn't be too careful when you were in the house on your own. Anything could happen. They came in through the walls.

'GO AWAY!' she shouted suddenly, Surprising herself. 'I'm not frightened!' They knew she was lying. Aching all over, she went back downstairs and fell into her chair. She couldn't settle. Melvin and Ray had gone out on a job. She hoped Melvin wouldn't come home in a temper again.

Whitney trembled as she thought of his rage. But if he was angry with Ray. But if he was angry with Ray, that was good. She gave a wary smile.

Pressing herself into the safety of her chair she screwed up her eyes and looked round the room. A strand of dry hair clung to her face, scratching at her eye. That wasn't what made her flinch. Something was lurking in the shadows. A voice whimpered nearby. Whitney pulled herself to her feet and limped over to Melvin's chair for a light. A moment later a flame shot from her fingers. She fought for control of her body. Her legs kept jerking which made it difficult to light her spliff.

At last she leaned back in her chair and watched as a thin trail of white smoke trickled out of her nose. It didn't help. Dope might softed the pain but it couldn't stop her shaking. Feeling nauseous she sat up without moving from her chair. When she threw up, Melvin made her scrub the carpet until the stink of dettol made her sick all over again. Experience had taught her to know when she was only going to retch.

Craving wrenched at her guts but Melvin had gone out. He never left anything in the house. Said he couldn't trust her. Viciously she stubbed her spliff on the arm of the chair and watched it singe a ragged hole in the fabric. Glowing threads faded into grey.

With a soft fizzle, the naked light bulb above her head went out. The whimpering began again.

'I know you're there,' she wispered. Her eyes flicked round the corners of the room. In the darkness, something stirred.

Melvin dismissed her night terrors. 'There's nothing here.' He would stamp his foot in the corner of the room. 'So much for your snake. I've squashed it. Flat.' Then he would throw his head back and laugh. Nothing frightened Melvin. But Melvin had gone out. She was alone in the darkness.

'He'll be back soon,' she whispered, glaring into the darkness. Her voice was feeble. In the corner, the snake hissed. Whitney whimpered. She lit a cigarette and forced herself to think about Melvin.

He had been complaining again. 'If it weren't for you, we'd be fine. As if I haven't got enough to worry about with the rent due and the fucking TV, you're always going on, never bloody satisfied.' His face had been red and sweaty. She had waited, trembling. But afterwards he'd brought out the skag and everything had been all right. 'You're a lucky girl,' he told her as he wiped a dribble of blood off her chin.

'Don't say I don't take care of you.' Whitney had nodded, too far gone to speak.

She trembled in the darkness. Salty tears stung her split lip. 'Bastard,' she muttered. She would never dare speak to him like that to his face. If only he had left her a fix. 'It's not so much to ask,' she whined. She began to cry in earnest and the whimpering fell silent. As long as she was crying she was safe from the voices. Her eyes throbbed. They felt as though they would burst, but she couldn't stop crying. 'Let me sleep,' she pleaded with the silence. 'I want to sleep.' Her eyes were sore. They hurt when she shut them. With shaking fingers she clutched at her cigarette and leaned back in her chair, inhaling deeply. She didn't know when Melvin would be back.

Melvin took care of her. She pressed herself against the back of her chair, clutching a cushion to her chest. Melvin put on a front, but Whitney knew better. He wasn't so tough. When it came to it Melvin was no worse than all the other men. Better, because he looked after her.

'If it wasn't for me, where would you be now?' he asked her.

'How would you live? And where? On the street, that's where.'

'Yes, Mel.'

'Where would you be?'

'On the street Melvin.'

'Bronxy's had enough of you.'

'Yes Melvin.'

'But I look after you.'

'Yes Mel. You look after me.'

Whitney had been happy at first, working for Bronxy. Bronxy was tough with the girls but fair. She looked after them.

'We're a team, girls,' she used to say. 'I make sure the punters are comfortable but you're the ones who keep them happy.' The trouble was, Whitney wasn't keeping men happy any more. She still danced, but none of the customers wanted to pay spend time with her. It wasn't as if she was old. When Bronxy took her off the podium, Whitney was shocked.

'What am I supposed to do for tips now?' she complained to the other girls. They didn't care.

'All the more for us,' one of them pointed out.

'What can I do?' she asked Bronxy in desperation.

'Clean yourself up for Fuck's sake,' Bronxy snapped.

'You're a disgrace.'

When Melvin took her to live with him, Whitney couldn't believe her luck.

Bronxy seemed pleased with the arrangement too. 'He'll put a roof over your head and take care of you. Don't mess it up, Whit. And get yourself of the smack for fuck's sake, before he gets tired of you. You're being given a chance here. Don't screw it up.'

Whitney tried to explain that the smack wasn't a problem but Bronxy wasn't listening. No one understood, except Melvin. She wondered where he was. He could be gone for hours. She closed her eyes.

In the darkness a snake uncoiled, hissing.


	8. Second Attempt

_**8: Second Attempt**_

They waited until the road was clear. Melvin turned the van lights out and was careful not to rev the engine as they crawled slowly up Harchester Hill. He parked in a side street. No one saw them hurry on foot past houses set back from the pavement behind tall bushes. Without a word, Melvin vanished through a gap in a hedge. Ray followed close on his heels. They crept along under cover of evergreen shrubs. Somewhere a dog barked. Melvin paused, one hand raised above his shoulder. Ray almost barged into him. He stopped himself just in time and hung his head, waiting for Melvin to move. They listened. The dog went on yelping. It was nowhere near them. Melvin tapped Ray on the arm. They resumed their cautions progress towards the house. In the darkness they made their way silently down the side of the front garden, trampling late autumn flowers into the earth.

'Quick, make a dash for it,' Melvin whispered in Ray's ear.

They sprinted across a narrow strip of glass. Security lights came on. They reached the house and flattened themselves against the wall.

'They'll think it's foxes,' Melvin whispered to Ray who nodded, hunching his shoulders and holding his breath. His heart was pounding beneath his jacket. He hoped Melvin couldn't hear it. They waited. As soon as the lights clicked off, Melvin gave Ray a shove and a leg up over the side gate. Ray slid the bolt across. They were inside. The security lights came on again. No one looking out of the window would have seen two figures pressed against the side wall of the house in the shadow of the gate.

After a moment the lights went out. They manoeuvred their way along the wall, avoiding setting off the lights, until they reached a low window.

Ray glanced around nervously while Melvin worked. It was awkward cutting the glass while keeping himself pressed against the wall. The faint scratching seemed to go on forever. At one point, Ray sidled up and put his hand on the window. Melvin paused in his task. 'What?' he snarled under his breath. 'Thought I heard a phone ring.' They stood listening. There was no sound from inside the house. Melvin shrugged and carried on, muttering softly.

'It's taking too long,' Ray whispered. The security lights had made him nervous.

'Nearly done,' Melvin insisted. He pressed harder against the glass. The cut out panel broke away with a soft snap. He reached in to release the window catch.

Melvin and Ray were in a large kitchen. The wall to their right was covered in pristine white cupboards, a gleaming glass fronted oven stood in the corner, and in the middle of the floor stood a central island with a stainless steel gas hob. On the far side of the room an open door led into a dining area. They could dimly make out a table and chairs through the opening. To their left a back door led out on to the garden. Melvin crossed the room and closed the door to the dining room. Then he tried the door to the garden. It was locked.

Ray put his bag down on the hob and waited as Melvin picked at the lock, his eyes screwed up in concentration. There was a click when he gave the door handle a wrench and it responded. He straightened up with a grin. 'Come on, let's see what we can find.' There exit was secure, they were ready to explore the house. Ray reached for his bag. Melvin crossed the kitchen. He opened the door to the dining room.

And heard footsteps.

He closed the door.

In the light of his torch, Ray saw Melvin's eyes, white and angry. 'What now?' Ray whispered hoarsely.

'Go!'

Ray grabbed his bag from the hob. There was nothing in it, but Ray wasn't going to leave his bag behind again. He grabbed at the strap. It had caught on something. He jerked it free. There was a soft click and a faint hissing. Melvin had disappeared. Ray ran after him, closing the back door behind him as he escaped into the night. They sped down the side passage, careless of the security lights. Melvin forced his way through the hedge on to the next door's drive and sprinted down on the road. Ray raced across the front of the house and made for the safety of the street down the drive of the property they had just broken into. A car shot out of the driveway behind him just before he reached the pavement. He spun round, startled. For a second its lights shone straight at him before he slipped round the hedge and away.

'Bugger!' Melvin snarled as the van started up. 'Bloody waste of time.'

'At least we got away,' Ray mumbled. He was still shaking.

'We're safe and no harm done. And I got the the bag, Melvin.' He held it up. The strap was broken. Melvin scowled. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and they roared away into the night.

_**Mr J.H.F: Well that's it for chapter 8! Please don't forget to review and PM me if you have any questions.**_

_**Also I was thinking about doing a lemon scene involving Alvin and Brittany in the next chapter, but it would mean I would have to change the rating to Rated M which might seem a bit pointless just for one chapter. So I am 50/50 about doing it. Please Tell me your thoughts about this.**_

_**Oh and by the way don't worry even if it isn't a lemon, Alvin and Brittany will be in the next chapter because I know how some people just can't seem to live without them. =) **_

_**Oh yeah and another thing, I know it isn't relevant or anything but have you seen the new James Bond film SkyFall?**_

_**Well if you haven't then I recommend you go and watch it. I am aware that it isn't out in America yet so you yanks will just have to wait till november. Oh well.**_

_**Thanks for reading, Mr J.H.F**_


	9. The Night

_**Mr J.H.F: Well Finally here it is chapter 9. This is an Alvin and Brittany chapter. This is the chapter where the story gets interesting ! So Read On.**_

_**9: The Night**_

The telephone shook Brittany awake. It was nearly two thirty in the morning. For a second, she was confused. She had been running along an empty beach, searching for Alvin. Through a slit in the bedroom curtains a splinter of moonlight shone into the room. Beside her, Alvin rolled over on to his side and groaned in his sleep. She reached for the handset.

'Yes?' She listened. 'I'll be there in half an hour.' Some technical problems could be resolved remotely from her laptop at home. On this occasion she knew she would have to go in. She hung up and wriggled round to look at Alvin. He was still asleep, peaceful as a child. Brittany smiled. After two years of marriage, she still couldn't believe her luck.

'Are you sure he's not just after your money?' miss miller had asked with a quizzical smile when Brittany had announced she was getting married. 'You're a relatively wealthy woman, Brittany, and you've only been with him for a few months.'

Brittany hadn't admitted that she had no idea how much Alvin earned. It wasn't something she could explain to her mother. Miss miller was dutiful but distant. Until she met Alvin all her passion had been channelled into her studies and work. Alvin had transformed life into something miraculous. She had never realised how lonely she was until she met him.

Brittany would have liked to speak openly to Alvin about her feelings, but was afraid he would laugh at her for being sentimental. In any case, she wouldn't be able to find the right words. She settled fon an inadequate 'I love you,' which she whispered repeatedly to him as he slept beside her. Sometimes the intensity of her feelings brought tears to her eyes when she watched him as he slept.

All the love she was capable of feeling had been stored up for this man sleeping beside her. He stirred. She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. She could have lain awake watching him all night, but she had to go to work.

Brittany felt her clothes in the dark and crept downstairs. She hesitated in the hall but decided not to stop for coffee. The sooner she reached the office, the sooner she could get started. She was keen to get the system up and running again, to minimise the backlog. It wasn't ideal, driving when she felt groggy, but the roads would be empty at that time of night. She thought of her husband, sleeping soundly upstairs and her face softened into a smile. He wouldn't need to get up for another five hours. She blow a kiss at the stairs before she set off, closing the front door softly behind her.

The freezing air shocked her fully awake. Overhead, stars shone brightly in a clear sky. Brittany felt a dreamlike alertness as she hurried over to her car. The revving of her engine broke the silence. As she accelerated out the drive, a figure suddenly darted in front of her. Brittany slammed her foot on the brake a swerved. Her car door came to rest against the hedge. Leaves and twigs scratched at the window. In the orange glow of a street lamp bulging eyes stared wildly at her before the figure dashed away into the darkness. Brittany reversed away from the hedge and drove off, shaken by the near miss.

* * *

It was gone half past six by the time she left work. Pumped up with caffeine, she knew her restlessness masked an underlying exhaustion and her reactions might be sluggish so she drove slowly back through the centre of town, past closed up shops and out towards Harchester hill. The streets were deserted at that time of morning. Soon, houses would light up as people dragged themselves out of bed. Two hours later, the centre of town would be crammed with cars idling in queues. She passed a police car cruising the streets. Apart from that, all was quiet. At this rate, she would easily be home before Alvin left for work. She accelerated involuntarily at the prospect of seeing him. The engine whined.

Brittany was on her way to Harchester Hill when she heard a muffled boom. For an instant the air in front of her windscreen quivered. As she approached the bottom of the hill, a siren pierced the hum of her engine. In her rear mirror she saw a fire engine race towards her, police cars on its tail. She pulled over to allow the emergency vehicles to pass before pulling out to accelerate behind them up the hill. Ahead of the flashing lights a column of black smoke hovered above the rooftops like a medieval angel of death. The emergency vehicles swung off the main road, leading her in the direction of her home. She followed. Turning the final corner of her journey, she found her way blocked by a police car. Fear struck her like a punch in the guts. She scrambled out of the car. Leaving the engine running and the door open she ran down the street. Her legs felt week. She battled for breath. It was an effort to keep moving. Her heart was thumping painfully as she pushed through the watching crowd. Some of them recognised her and fell back.

A man shouted crossly. 'We're all trying to see here -' His voice stopped abruptly when he caught sight of Brittany, as though someone had switched off the radio.

'Keep back there please,' a police officer called out.

'Alvin!' Brittany gasped. None of the uniformed figures took any notice of her. She seized a fireman, clung to the coarse fabric of his sleeve. 'My husband! Alvin!' Her voice rose to a shriek. A tall man in a helmet advanced towards her.

'Mrs Seville? I'm very sorry.' He shook his head.

Brittany stared at his blackened face. 'No!' She gazed around, stupefied. Over the fireman's shoulder she could see her smouldering house. Men in uniform were moving around, silhouetted against the red glow. The line of onlookers behind her was being pushed back. A man with a megaphone was shouting at them.

'We're evecuating the neighbouring houses,' a voice called out. '

'We need to move all those cars, now,' another voice barked.

A movement nearby caught Brittany's attention. Two men were carrying a stretcher, with Alvin small body covered. Brittany stumbled over to it. The stretcher bearers paused. She raised the blanket. Alvin wasn't breathing, his face smudgy and grey. Soon she thought he would open his eyes and scold her for leaving home without waking him to say goodbye. She reached out. Gently she stroked his cheek, she then ran her finger along his bottom lip, round his chin. Her eyes filled with tears and her head sank forward on to his body. She would have stayed there forever - she had nowhere else to go - but someone pulled her away. A hand pulled the blanket over Alvin's face as he was carried into the van.

'Where are they taking him?' she asked. Her voice juddered as though she was sobbing but her eyes were dry. No one answered her. A siren rang out. Brittany watched the mortuary van disappear in the smoke-filled air.

_**Mr J.H.F: Thanks for reading and please make sure to review, I love feedback.**_  
_**and remember to PM me if you have any questions.**_  
_**Cherio !**_


	10. The Mission

**_10: The Mission_**

Campbell is watching a group of trainees on the firing range, as

Jeanette joins him. He looks tired, haunted. Somehow between master and student, Their sense a subtle, muted tug of sexuality.

_**Campbell:**_ Good morning. Jeanette.

_**Jeanette:**_

Good morning, Mr. Crawford.

_**CAMPBELL:**_

Your instructors tell me you're doing well. Top quarter of the class.

_**Jeanette:**_ I hope so. They haven't posted anything.

_**CAMPBELL:**_

A job's come up and I thought about you. Not really a job, more of - an

interesting errand. Walk me to my car, Jean.

We're trying to interview all of the serial killers now in custody, for

a psycho-behavioral profile. Could be a big help in unsolved cases.

Most of them have been happy to talk to us. They have a compulsion to

boast, these people... Do you spook easily, Jen ?

_**Jeanette:**_ Not yet.

_**CAMPBELL:**_

You see, the one we want most refuses to cooperate. I want you to go

after her again today, in the asylum.

_**Jeanette:**___Who's the subject?

_**CAMPBELL:**_

Mckensie Bell

_Jeanette then stops walking, goes very still. A beat._

_**Jeanette:**_ The cannibal...

_Campbell doesn't respond, except to study her face._

Jeanette: Yes, well... Okay, right. I'm glad for the chance, sir, but - why me?

_**CAMPBELL:**_

You're qualified and available. And frankly, I can't spare a real agent

right now.

_He walks on again, at a faster clip. She hurried to keep up._

_**CAMPBELL:**_ I don't expect her to talk to you, but I have to be able to say we

tried... Mckensie was a brilliant psychiatrist, and she knows all the

dodges.

_Campbell then hands Jeanette the manila envelope._

_**Campbell:**_ Dossier on her, copy of our questionnaire, special ID for you... If he

won't talk, then I want straight reporting. How's she look, how's her

cell look, what's she writing? The Director himself will see your

report, over your own signature - if I decide it's good enough. I want

that by 08 am on Wednesday, and keep this to yourself.

_They have reached his car. His driver stamps on a cigarette, he then climbs in_

_behind the wheel. BURROUGHS, his assistant, says something into a_

_walkie-talkie, then opens the back door. But Crawford pulls her aside,_

_a hand on her shoulder._

_**CAMPBELL:**_ Now. I want your full attention, Jen . Are you listening to me?

_**Jeanette:**_ Yes sir.

_**CAMPBELL: **_Be very careful with Mckensie Bell. Dr. Chilton at the asylum will go

over the physical procedures used with him. Do not deviate from them,

for any reason. You tell her nothing personal, Jeanette. Believe me,

you don't want Mckensie Bell inside your head... Just do your job,

but never forget what she is.

_Jeanette:_ And what is that, sir?

_**Campbell:**_ That she's a monster. A pure psychopath...

**_Well that's it for chapter 10. Make sure to review and P.M me if you have questions or anything. Thanks for reading. Bye._**


	11. Mckensie

_**11) Mckensie**_

Dr Frederick Chilton looks up from Jeanette's card. A smarmy little peacock, behind a vast desk; he's conceived an instant, hopeless letch for Jeanette. He smiles, stroking her card with his beloved gold pen.

_**CHILTON:**_ You know, we get a lot of detectives here, but I must say, I can't ever remember one so attractive...

_Now wearing a more feminine skirt suit. Hair neatly coiled, elegant_ _shoulder bag, briefcase. He has rudely left her standing._

_**CHILTON:**_ Will you be in Baltimore overnight...? Because this can be quite a fun town, if you have the right guide.

_Jeanette tires, unsuccessfully, to hide her distaste for him._

_**Jeanette:**_ I'm sure it's a great town, Dr. Chilton, but my instructions are to talk to Mckensie and report back this afternoon.

_**CHILTON:**_ I see. Let's make this quick, then. I'm busy.

_Jeanette flinches as a heavy steel gate CLANGS shut behind her, the bolt_ _shooting home. Chilton walks ahead of her._

_**CHILTON:**_ Mckensie carved up nine people - that we're sure of - and cooked her favorite bits. We've tried to study her, of course - but she's much too sophisticated for the standard tests. And my, does she hate us! Thinks I'm her nemesis... Campbell's very clever, isn't he? Using you.

**Jeanette:** How do you mean, Dr. Chilton?

_**CHILTON:**_ A weak young woman, to turn her on? I don't believe Mckensie's ever seen a woman in eight years. And I bet you are her "taste" - so to speak.

_**Jeanette:**_ I graduated magna from UVA, Doctor. It's not a charm school.

_**CHILTON:**_ Good. Then you should be able to remember the rules.

_They enter a darker, even grimmer area. Heavy grids over the lights. Distant_ _SLAMMINGS and faint, hoarse SHOUTS. They walk briskly._

_**CHILTON:**_ Do not reach through the bars, do not touch the bars. You pass him nothing but soft paper - no pens or pencils. No staples or paperclips in his paper. Use the sliding food carrier, no exceptions. Do not accept anything he attempts to hold out to you. Do you understand me?

_**Jeanette:**_ I understand.

_**CHILTON: **_ I'm going to show you why we insist on such precautions... On the afternoon of July 8, 1999, she complained of chest pains and was taken to the dispensary. Her mouthpiece and restraints were removed for an EKG. When the nurse bent over him, she did this to her...

_He hands Jeanette a small, dog-eared photo. Looking at it, she is_ _stopped in her tracks. This pleases Chilton._

_**CHILTON:**_ The doctors managed to re-set her jaw, more or less, and save one of her eyes. But Mckensie's pulse never got over eighty-five, even when she ate her tongue.

Chilton then pauses and smiles 'I keep her in here.'

_He turns, pushes a button. A steel door BUZZES slowly open, and BARNEY_ _- a big, impassive orderly - awaits them in an anteroom. On its walls:_ _restraints, mouthpieces, Mace, tranquilizer guns._ _Jeanette quickly block's him_ '

Dr. Chilton - if Mckensie feels you're her enemy - as you've said - them maybe I'll have more luck by myself. What do you think?'

_**CHILTON:**_ (Annoyed) You might have suggested that in my office, and saved me the time.

_**Jeanette:**_ But then I would've missed the pleasure of your company. _She holds out the photo. He grabs it, as his jaw was twitching._

_**CHILTON:**_ When she's finished, bring her out. _He turns on his heel, goes. Barney smiles reassuringly._

_**BARNEY:**_ Hi, I'm Barney. He told you, don't get near the bars?

_**Jeanette:**_ Yes, he did.

_**BARNEY:**_ Okay. Past the others, it's the last cell. Stay to the middle. I put out a chair for you.

_Sensing her tension, he indicates a nearby security monitor._

_**BARNEY:**_ I'm watching. You'll do fine. Jeanette nods gratefully. She looks down the long corridor, takes a deep breath, walks into it. He watches her go.

_as her footsteps echo. High to her right,_ _surveillance cameras. On her left, cells. Some are padded, with narrow_ _observation slits, others are normal, barred... Shadowy occupants_ _pacing, MUTTERING... Suddenly a dark figure in the next-to-last cell_ _hurtles towards her, his face mashing grotesquely against his bars as_ _he hisses._

_**A DARK FIGURE:**_ I c-can sssmell your cunt!

Jeanette flinches momentarily, but then walks on.

_She then reaches Mckensie bell's cell. Behind its barred front wall is a second_ _barrier of stout nylon net... Sparse, bolted-down furniture, many_ _softcover books and papers. On the walls, extraordinarily detailed,_ _skillful drawings, mostly European cityscapes, in charcoal or crayon._

Jeanette stops, at a police distance from Mckensie's bars, she then clears her throat.

_**Jeanette:**_ ... My name is Jeanette Miller. May I talk with you?

Mckensie Bell is lounging on her bunk, in white pajamas, reading an Italian Vogue. she turns, A face so long out of the sun, it seems almost leached - except for the glittering eyes, and the wet red mouth. she rises smoothly, crossing to stand before Jeanette; the gracious host. Her voice is cultured, soft.

_**Mckensie Bell:**_ Good morning.

_**Jeanette:**_ Mckensie, we have a hard problem in psychological profiling. I want to ask for your help with a questionnaire.

_**Mckensie:**_ "We" being the Behavioral Science Unit, at Quantico. You're one of John Campbell's, I expect.

_**Jeanette:**_ I am, yes.

_**Mckensie:**_ May I see your credentials?

Jeanette is surprised, but fishes her ID card from her bag, holds it up for Mckensie's inspection. She smiles, soothingly.

_**Mckensie: **_Closer, please... closer...

_She complies each time, trying to hide her fear. Mckensie's nostrils_ _lift, as she gently, like an animal, tests the air. Then she smiles,_ _glancing at her card._

_**Mckensie:**_ That expires in one week. You're not real FBI, are you?

_**Jeanette:**_ I'm - still in training at the Academy.

**_Mckensie:_** John Campbell sent a trainee to me?

_**Jeanette:**_ We're talking about psychology, Mckensie, not the Bureau. Can you decide for yourself whether or not I'm qualified?

_**Mckensie: **_Mmmmm... That's rather slippery of you, Officer Miller. Sit. Please.

_She sits in the folding metal desk-chair. Mckensie waits politely till she's_ _settled, then sits down herself, faces her happily._

_**Mckensie:**_ Now then. What did Miggs say to you?

(Jeanette is puzzled)

"Multiple Miggs," in the next cell. He hissed at you. What did he say?

_**Jeanette:**_ He said - "I can smell your cunt."

_**Mckensie:**_ I see. I myself cannot. You use Evyan skin cream, and sometimes you wear L'Air du Temps, but not today. You brought your best bag, though, didn't you?

_**Jeanette:**_ Yes.

_**Mckensie:**_ It's much better than your shoes.

_**Jeanette:**_ Maybe they'll catch up.

_**Mckensie:**_ I have no doubt of it.

_**Jeanette:**_ (shifting uncomfortably) Did you do those drawings, Mckensie?

_**Mckensie:**_ Yes. That's the Duomo, seen from the Belvedere. Do you know Florence?

_**Jeanette:**_ All that detail, just from memory...?

_**Mckensie:**_ Memory, Officer Miller, is what I have instead of view.

_A pause, then Jeanette takes the questionnaire from her case._

_**Jeanette:**_ Mckensie, if you'd please consider -

_**Mckensie:**_ No, no, no. You were doing fine, you'd been courteous and receptive to courtesy, you'd established trust with the embarrassing truth about Miggs, and now this ham-handed segue into your questionnaire. It won't do. It's stupid and boring.

_**Jeanette:**_ I'm only asking you to look at this, Miss Bell. Either you will or you won't.

_**Mckensie:**_ John Campbell must be very busy indeed if he's recruiting help from the student body. Busy hunting that new one, Alvin Seville... Such a naughty boy! Did Campbell send you to ask for my advice on him?

_**Jeanette:**_ No, I came because we need -

_**Mckensie:**_ Fine then, send in your questionnaire, Thrill me with your wisdom.

Jeanette rolls her the questionnaire, in Mckensie's sliding food tray. Mckensie rises, glances at it, turning a page or two disdainfully.

_**Mckensie:**_Oh, Officer Miller... do you think you can dissect me with this blunt little tool?

_**Jeanette:**_ No. I only hoped that your knowledge -

Suddenly she whips the tray back at Jeanette, with a metallic CLANG that makes Jeanette start. Mckensie's voice remains a pleasant purr.

_**Mckensie:**_ You're sooo ambitious, aren't you...? You know what you look like to me, with your good bag and your cheap shoes? You look like a rube. A well-scrubbed, hustling rube with a little taste... Good nutrition has given you some length of bone, but you're not more than one generation from poor white trash, are you – Officer Miller...? That accent you're trying so desperately to shed - pure West Austraila. What was your father, dear? Was he a coal miner? Did he stink of the swamp...? And when you imagrated oh, how quickly those three boys found you and your sisters, All those tedious, sticky fumblings, in the back seats of cars, while you could only dream of getting out. Getting anywhere - yes? Getting all the way - to the F...B...I.

Her every word has struck Jeanette like a tiny, precise dart. But Jeanette squares her jaw and won't give ground.

_**Jeanette:**_ You see a lot, Mckensie Bell But are you strong enough to point that high-powered perception at yourself? How about it...? Look at yourself and write down the truth. (she slams the tray back at Mckensie) Or maybe you're afraid to.

_**Mckensie:**_ You're a tough one, aren't you?

_**Jeanette:**_ Reasonably so. Yes.

_**Mckensie:**_ And you'd hate to think you were common. My, wouldn't that sting! Well you're far from common, Officer Miller. All you have is the fear of it. Now please excuse me. Good day.

_**Jeanette:**_ And the questionnaire...?

_**Mckensie:**_ A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti... Fly back to school, little miss miller.

she steps backwards, then returns to her cot, becoming as still and remote as a statue. Frustrated, Jeanette hesitates, then finally shoulders her bag and goes, leaving the questionnaire on Mckensie's tray.


	12. Campbell's House

**_Campbell's House_**

Campbell, in a cardigan, sits in a wing chair in the book-lined study

of his suburban home. He turns the pages of Jeanette's memo as they

talk. His tone is sharp.

_**CAMPBELL:**_

I've read your interim memo on Mckensie.

You sure you've left nothing out?

_**Jeanette:**_ It's all there, sir, practically verbatim.

_**CAMPBELL:**_

Every word, Jeanette? Every gesture?

_**Jeanette:**_ (a bit heatedly)

Right down to the kleenex I used.

(Campbell is silent)

Sir, why? Is something wrong?

_**CAMPBELL:**_

She mentioned a name, at the very end. "Mofet..." Any follow-up on her?

_**Jeanette:**_ I spent all evening on the mainframe. Mckensie altered or destroyed most

of her patient histories, prior to capture. No record of anyone named

Mofet. But "Split City" sounded like it might have something to do with

divorce. I tracked it down in the library's catalogue of national

yellow pages.

(glancing at her notes)

It's a mini-storage facility outside Baltimore, where Mckensie had her

practice.

Jeanette pauses, expecting some soft of approval for her cleverness.

_**CAMPBELL:**_

Well? Why aren't you there right now?

_**Jeanette:**_

Sir, that's a field job. It's outside the scope of my assignment. And

I've got a test tomorrow on -

_**CAMPBELL:**_

Do you recall my instructions to you, Jeanette? What were they?

_**Jeanette:**_

To complete and file my report by 0800 Wednesday. But sir -

_**CAMPBELL:**_

Then do that, Jeanette. Do just exactly that.

_**Jeanette:**_

Sir, what is it? There's something you're not telling me.

_**CAMPBELL**_:

Miggs has been murdered.

_**Jeanette:**_

Murdered...? How?

_**CAMPBELL**_

The orderly heard Mckensie whispering to him, all afternoon, and Miggs

crying. They found him at bed check. He'd swallowed his own tongue...

Chilton is scared stiff the family will file a civil rights lawsuit,

and he's trying to blame it on you. I told the little prick your

conduct was flawless.

Jeanette...?

_**Jeanette:**_ I'm here, sir, I just - I don't know how to feel about it.

_**CAMPBELL:**_

You don't have to feel any way about it. Mckensie did it to amuse

herself. Why not, what can they do? Take away her books for awhile, and

no jello...

(His voice has now become slightly softer)

I know it got ugly today. But this is your report, Jen - take it

as far as you can. On your own time, outside of class. Now carry on.

There was a loud click of Campbell hanging up. She stares at her

receiver, stung by his abruptness.

**_Mr J.H.F: Yeah, I know Short Chapter, but I didn't want to BORE you._**

**_Please Review and Pm me if you have any questions._**


	13. It's worth to DIE for

_**13: It's worth to die for...**_

Jeanette is outside an old run-down garage , kneeling before a closed, roll-up metal door, she takes a flash photo of its sealed padlock. EVERETT YOW, a fat, 60ish Chinse man, holds an umbrella over them both.

_**Jeanette:**_  
So no one's been in here since - 1980?

She opens the padlock, using a fat ring of tagged keys, then sets aside  
both keys and lock.

_**MR. YOW:**_  
Not to my knowledge. Privacy is a great concern to my customers. But,  
if you say this is an FBI matter...

_**Jeanette:**_  
I won't disturb anything, Mr. Yow, I promise. Be gone before you know  
it.

Slinging her camera over a shoulder, she tugs at the handle, but the  
door won't budge. Another tug, harder - no good. Mr. Yow stoops to  
help, puffing hard, but it's firmly stuck. He sighs.

_**MR. YOW:**_  
We could return tomorrow, with my son. Or perhaps some workmen...?

Jeanette crosses to her Pinto, which faces the shed, reaches in to turn  
on her headlights. Mr. Yow blinks in the sudden brightness. Then she  
opens her truck, rummaging inside, and returns with a bumper jack, a  
flashlight, and a rubber floor mat.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Would you hold these, please?

She gives him her flashlight and camera, drops the mat on the ground,  
then sets the bumper jack in place, under the center of the door. She  
pumps on the jack handle as the door squeals slowly up, but it won't go  
higher than about 18 inches, despite all her exertions. She spreads out  
the rubber mat on the cement, takes the flashlight from Mr. Yow, then  
lies on the mat.

Jeanette, backlit, peers under the door. She reaches in, makes a sweep  
with her flashlight. She see's shadowy outlines - boxes, then the  
flattened tires of a car... She hears the sound of rain on the tin roof, and other  
noises, too - small rustlings . Mr. Yow's chubby face appears down  
beside Jeanette's

_**MR. YOW:**_  
It smells like mice... I think I hear them, too - don't you?

Jeantte turns onto her back, starts squirming under the door.

_**MR. YOW:**_  
You're going in there?

Jeanette pulls her head back out again, reaching to take her camera from  
him. She hands him a card, trying to appear nonchalant.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Mr. Yow, if this door should fall down - or anything else -  
would you be kind enough to call this number? It's our Baltimore field  
office. They know you're here with me... Do you understand?

_**MR. YOW:**_  
Might I suggest tucking your pants into your socks? To prevent mouse  
intrusion.

_**CLARICE:**_  
Good idea.

Jeanette squirms, on her back, through the narrow opening. As she  
squeezes all the way in, she snags one thigh on the metal edge of the  
door. She curses softly, shining her flashlight on her ripped khakis -  
there's a small streak of blood.

_**MR. YOW:**_  
Okay, Miss Miller?

_**Jeanette**_:  
Okay, Mr. Yow...

She shines her light around. In its narrow beam, She See's  
Spiderwebs, everywhere... high stacks of cardboard boxes... a few dusty  
pieces of furniture... the big car, oddly long and tall, covered with a  
tarp... Suddenly there's a scurrying of loud musical notes. Jeanette  
turns, scared, her beam capturing... an old upright piano.

_**MR. YOW**___:  
You're playing a piano, Miss Miller?

_**Jeanette:**_  
That wasn't me.

_**MR. YOW :**_  
Oh.

Jeanette crawls a bit further. There's hardly room to stand, but she  
finally manages to wriggle upright, clawing away cobwebs, next to the  
car. Holding her light under one arm, she takes several FLASH photos of  
the shed's interior, ending with the car. Then, slinging her camera  
over the shoulder, she folds back the tarp, resting it on the roof. The  
resulting clouds of dust make her cough.

She discovers a car which is an antique beauty, a 1931 Packard. It's very dusty, despite the  
tarp. Curtains close off the back passenger compartment, but there's a  
narrow gap in them.

Jeantte Peers in through the gap, aiming her flashlight.

As the thin flashlight beam picks out: the broad back seat... as open  
album of lacy, old-fashioned Valentines... a crumpled lap rug, on the  
floor... and then a pair of women's shiny, high-heeled pumps... Above  
these, the hem of a fancy satin evening gown - and a pair of pale,  
stockinged legs.

Jeanette recoils, alarmed, then steadies herself.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Mr. Yow? Oh Mr. Yow...? It looks like somebody is sitting in this car.

_**MR. YOW:**_  
Oh my! Oh my... Maybe you better come out now, Miss Miller.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Not yet! - just wait for me.

(under the breath)  
Maybe in about two seconds.

She leans down with her camera, takes a FLASH through the gap, then  
tries the door handle. Locked. So is the front door. She looks around,  
aiming her light, and locates a tangle of coat-hangers, sticking out of  
a carton of bric-a-brac. She pulls out one of these, straightens it  
quickly, bends the tip into a hook.

As she jams this tool inside the join at the top of the back passenger  
window, then fishes around till she can snag the inside door latch,  
pulling up. A satisfying CLICK.

Jeanette opens the door - it hits stacked boxes, and won't open far -  
then very cautiously leans inside, aiming her flashlight.

Revealing more of the evening gown... a pair of hands, in white, elbow-  
length gloves - one rests on the lap, the other atop a large, beaded,  
drawstring evening bag... thick strands of costume pearls over the  
breasts... and finally the white neck stub of a female mannequin. No  
face or head.

Jeanette Sighs with relief. She takes a couple more FLASHES, then very carefully  
lifts out the Valentine album, holding it by the corners, and setting  
it atop the car. Then she eases herself inside, onto the back seat, as  
the springs SQUEAK loudly.

One gloved hand slides off the lap, brushing Jeanette's thigh.

Jeanette starts a bit, then pokes at the gloved arm, hard. She peels  
back a bit of glove, revealing the white, synthetic elbow. She smiles,  
shaking her head at her own jumpiness, as she reaches over the  
mannequin's lap to loosen the evening bag's drawstring.

A SEVERED HUMAN HEAD stares back at her, as the beaded material slides away.

Jeanette lurches back, gasping loudly, and several long, heart-pounding  
moments pass before she can make herself look more closely.

The head bobs gently in a pool of alcohol, in a laboratory specimen  
jar. It is a man's head, but grotesquely transformed, by the addition  
of heavy makeup, earrings, and a sodden wig, into a woman's face. Over  
the years the makeup has smeared badly, and the pupils have gone almost  
milky white.

Jeanette's still Staring at this terrible thing, is pleased to find herself quickly  
regaining control. She murmurs to herself.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Well, Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.

_**MR J.H.F: Well thanks for reading Chapter 13 and remember to review and pm me if you have any questions.**_

_**And I trust you all got the wizard of oz reference, if not, SHAME ON YOU.**_


	14. Alvin, The naughty boy

_**14: Alvin, The naughty boy...**_

On a noiseless TV screen, an evangelist rants, waving his arms. Behind  
him, a swaying choir in gaudy robes.

_**Jeanette:**_  
It's an anagram, isn't it, Mckensie?

_Jeanette's now wet hair is plastered flat._

_Sitting on the corridor floor to one side is a TV, which has been stationed so that_  
_Mckensie cannot avoid seeing it._

_**Jeanette:**_  
Hester Mofet... "The rest of me." Miss The-Rest-of-Me... Meaning, you  
rented that place.

_Mckensie's lost in shadows; we can't see her. she doesn't respond._

_Jeanette speaks to the darkened call - as she tries again._

_**Jeanette:**_  
You put those - things in there. Paid for it in advance, ten years  
ago... Why, Mckensie?

_The food carrier suddenly SWISHES out of the cell, making Jeanette jump up._  
_In its tray is a clean, folded white towel. Jeanette hesitates, then_  
_crosses, and takes it._

_**Jeanette:**_  
Thank you.

_Jeanette sits again, rubbing her wet hair. When Mckensie finally speaks, she's on_  
_the floor, too - a deeper, hunching darkness in the shadows,_  
_occasionally striped by the flickering TV light._

_**Mckensie:**_  
Your bleeding has stopped.

_**Jeanette:**_  
How did -

(she stops herself)  
It's nothing. A scratch.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Why don't you ask me about Alvin Seville?

_**Jeanette:**_

(surprised)  
Why? Do you know something about him?

_**Mckensie:**_  
I might if I saw the case file. You could get that for me.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Why don't you tell me about "Miss Mofet?" You wanted me to find him. Or  
do I have to wait for the lab?

_**Mckensie:**_  
(sighs)

His real name is Benjamin Raspail. A former patient of mine, whose  
romantic attachments ran to, shall we say, the exotic...? I didn't kill  
him, merely tucked him away. Very much as I found him, in that  
ridiculous car, in his own garage, after he's missed three  
appointments. You'd have him under "Missing Person" - which, in poor  
Raspail's case, could hardly be more true.

_**Jeanette:**_  
If you didn't kill him, then who did?

_**Mckensie:**_  
Who can say...? Best thing for him, really. His therapy was going  
nowhere.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Wouldn't it have been easier to just leave him for the police to find?

_**Mckensie:**_  
And have them clomping about in my life? Oh dear, no... At that time I  
still had certain private amusements of my own.

How did you feel when you saw him, Jeanette ? May I call you Jeanette ?

_**Jeanette:**_  
Scared, at first. Then - exhilarated.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Ahhh... Why?

_**Jeanette**_:  
Because you weren't wasting my time.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Do you have something you use, when you need to get up your courage?  
Memories, tableaux... scenes from your early life?

_**Jeanette:**_  
I don't know. Next time I'll have to check.

_**Mckensie:**_  
John Campbell is helping your career, isn't he? Apparently he likes  
you. And you like him, too.

_**Jeanette:**_  
I never thought about it.

_**Mckensie**_:  
Your first lie to me, Jeanette. How sad. Tell me - do you think Campbell  
wants you, sexually? True, he's much older, and you have your own partner, but - do you think he  
visualizes... scenarios, exchanges...? Fucking you?

_**Jeanette:**_  
That doesn't interest me, Mckensie. And it's the sort of thing Miggs  
would ask.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Not anymore.

Surely the odd confluence of events hasn't escaped you, Jeanette.  
Campbell dangles you before me. Then I give you a bit of help. Do you  
think it's because I like to look at you, and imagine how good you  
would taste...?

_**Jeanette:**_  
I don't know. Is it?

_**Mckensie:**_  
Or doesn't this all begin to suggest to you a kind of... negotiation?  
There's something Campbell can give me, and I want to trade for it. I  
even wrote to him, offering my help. But he hates me, so he won't deal  
directly.

_Mckensie slowly turns up the rheostat in her cell. As the lights_  
_rise, we see that her cell's been stripped bare. Gone are her books,_  
_drawings, mattress - even her toilet seat. Jeanette stands, too, startled._  
_They face each other._

_**Mckensie:**_  
Punishment, you see. For Miggs. Just like that gospel program. When you  
leave, they'll turn the volume way up. Chilton does enjoy his petty  
torments.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Who killed Raspail, Mckensie...? You know, don't you?

_**Mckensie:**_  
I've been in this room for eight years, Jeanette. I know they will  
never, ever let me out while I'm alive. What I want is a view. I want a  
window where I can see a tree, or even water. I want to be in a federal  
institution, away from Chilton - and I want a view. I'll give good  
value for it. Campbell could do that for me, but he won't. You persuade  
him.

_**Jeanette:**_

(almost a whisper)

Who killed your patient?

_**Mckensie:**_  
Oh, a very naughty boy. Someone you and the public believe to be dead.

_**Jeanette:**_

Alvin...?

Alvin killed him, all those years ago, Why...? That's impossible.

_But Mckensie only smiles, enigmatically._

_**Mekensie:**_  
Who is he stalking right now, Jeanette? I wonder, don't you? How many  
more people will have to die, before you trade with me...?

Jeanette stares at him, unsure how to respond.

_**Mr J.H.F: I wonder what's going to happen next? ...Well Actually I know, but you don't so I'll let you do the wondering for me. **_  
_**Please Review and PM me if you have questions or stuff like that.**_


	15. The Next Victim

_**15: The Next Victim**_

_Vinne Mathers takes a long toke from a bong pipe. She is 34, a tall,_  
_big-boned, rather fleshy woman with long brown fair and is also the chipmunks mother._  
_Her head is on the lap of her boyfriend, CODY; they're sprawled on a couch in the den of_  
_her well-furnished apartment. The TV in on, with low sound._

_**Vinny:**_  
This stuff's givin' me the munchies. Where's that bag of popcorn?

_**CODY:**_  
Shit. Left the groceries in the car.

_He starts to rise, but she pushes him back._

_**Vinny**_  
'it's okay, I'll go.

_She rises, goes out the front door._

* * *

_Vinny straightens, with her bag of groceries, shutting her car's_  
_back door. She sees, a short distance away -_

_Alvin Standing at the open rear door of a brown panel truck. He is in a cunning disguise. So she cannot recognise him, The FBI are gonna start tracking him down soon and knowing Vinny she will the the extra money for turning him in._

_His right forearm is in a cast and sling; he is struggling, unsuccessfully, to_  
_hoist an armchair into the truck. Parked nearby, other cars, RVs, a_  
_boat on a trailer. A thin, breast-high fog fills the lot; arc lights_  
_make yellow pools._

_Vinny hesitates, then crosses towards him._

_**Vinny:**_  
May I help you with that?

_**Alvin:**_  
Would you? Thanks.

_His voice is odd, strained, very soft. A fog lamp, set on end on the_  
_ground, distorts his features from below. Vinny can't get a good glimpse of his face, but his body is plump, above average height. Vinny sets down the bag, then together they easily lift the chair into the truck._

_**Alvin:**_  
Let's slide it up, you mind?

_He climbs inside the truck, ducking under a small hand winch, and grabs_  
_the chair. Vinny hesitates again, but climbs in after him; together they_  
_slide the chair forward, behind the seats._

_**Alvin:**_  
Are you about a size 14?

_**Vinny:**_

(surprised)  
..What?

_Suddenly, in the shadowy dark, Alvin clubs her over the back of her head_  
_with his cast. She moans, slumps unconscious, sliding off the armchair_  
_to lie on her stomach. Alvin pulls off his cast and sling, tosses them_  
_aside, then hops out of the truck, grabs his lamp, climbs back inside,_  
_and pulls the door shut. He bends over her face with the lamp. He can still hear_  
_her shallow Breathing._

_**Alvin:**_  
Good.

_He peels back the collar of her blouse, reading the size tag._

_**Alvin:**_  
Good.

_He carefully slits her blouse up the back, with a pair of bandage_  
_scissors, peeling apart the two halves. There's no bra strap. He_  
_strokes her bare fur delicately, very happily._

_**Alvin:**_  
Gooood...

_Vinny's grocery bag is left on the concrete floor, as her blouse is tossed_  
_out beside it. As the sound of the truck's motor starting. The truck backs up,_  
_one rear wheel knocking over the bag, partly squashing it. Then is_  
_drives away, taillights shrinking, as a lone orange rolls slowly away_  
_from the bag..._

_**Mr J.H.F: It's seems like this story about to get alot darker, don't you think?**_

_**Please review and check out my other story's. ( I ain't forceing anyone)**_


	16. His Sick Methods

_**16: His Sick Methods**_

_12:15, LA Training acadamy, Califonia._

Jeanette and Brigham walk briskly down the hall, passing other trainees. Brigham carries a small canvas bag.

_**BRIGHAM:**_

Get your field gear, take stuff for overnight. You're goin' with  
Campbell.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Where?

_**BRIGHAM:**_  
Some fishermen in West Virginia found an unidentified girl's body. It's  
a Alvin Seville-type situation. Been in the water about a week, and Ray  
needs somebody that can print a floater. Think you can handle it?

_**Jeanette:**_  
I'll need the big fingerprint kit... and the one-to-one Polaroid, the  
CU-5, with film packs and batteries.

_Jeanette and Brigham reach the car, it was a state of the art Jeap Cherokee. They get in and Start thier journey to West Virginia._  
_Brigham steers as they pass hangars, parked planes, an airstrip._  
_Jeanette holds a big fingerprint kit and a weekend bag._

_**BRIGHAM:**_  
Ray's pretty tough on you, isn't he? Impatient...

_**Jeanette:**_  
Sometimes.

_**BRIGHAM:**_  
He's got a lot on his mind besides Alvin Seville... His wife, Bella, is  
real sick. Comatose... I'm tellin' you about it now, 'cause he may  
never.

_Jeanette absorbs this in silence as they stop near an ancient, rather_  
_dilapidated Beechcraft. Its door is open, the twin props and beacons_  
_already turning. Brigham turns to her, holding out his small canvas_  
_bag._

_**BRIGHAM:**_  
You're goin' in the field, so you gotta have full kit. Take this - it's  
my own...

_Jeanette opens the bag, stares at the big blue gun nestled in its_  
_shoulder holster. She looks up at him, touched._

_**BRIGHAM:**_  
Wear it, don't ever leave it in your purse. Dry fire it whenever you  
get the chance. And do your exercises.

_**CLARICE:**_  
I will... I promise.

_**BRIGMAN:**_  
Listen, I hope you never need a thing I've taught you. But you've got  
something... Ray sees it, I do too. If you ever need to, you can shoot.

She nods, climbs out. Then she looks back in at him. They're both moved  
by this rite of passage, but a little embarrassed.

_**BRIGHAM:**_  
Bless you, agent Miller...

* * *

_Jeanette is now on her flight to west virginia._

_She looks out the plane's window and see's at the landscape far below._  
_Wisps of cloud, a quilt of farms._

_Jeanette turns from the window, looks at a think folder in her lap. The_  
_cover reads__** "Case File: / Alvin Saville."**__ Jeanette is moody, distracted._  
_She hesitates, then opens the file, begins to scan._

_Police forms, some handwritten... Typed lab reports; we catch words,_  
_phrases: "Autopsy Protocols", "Histamine Analysis"... Grainy_  
_enlargements of bullet slugs, showing matched grooves... And then a_  
_stack of victim photos. The first one, taken from a good distance away,_  
_shows a nude female body, face down on a pebbly riverbank, surrounded_  
_by bits of litter._

_Jeanette hesitates again, then flips this photo to look at the next. It_  
_makes her flinch, just slightly. Quickly she turns through several more_  
_photographs, trying hard to concentrate._

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
He keeps them alive for three days.

Why, we don't yet know... There's no evidence of rape or physical abuse  
prior to death. All the mutilation you see there is post-mortem.

I'm hot, are you hot? Bobby, it's too damned hot back here...

_The pilot adjusts a valve. Campbell turns to her again._

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
So. Three days. Then he shoots them, skins them - usually just the  
torsos - and dumps them. Each body in a different river, in a different  
state, downstream from an interstate highway. The water leaves us no  
fingerprints, fibers, DNA fluids - no trace evidence at all. That's  
Fredrica Bimmel, the first one...

_Campbell Shows a photo of a pretty, plump-cheeked brunette, in her high school graduation_  
_cap and gown. She smiles at the camara with touching optimism._

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
A big girl, like all the rest. Went about 160... Her corpse was the  
only one he took the trouble to weight down, so actually, she was the  
third girl found. After her, he got lazy... and he faked his own death.

_As Jeanette stares at the girl's face, moved. Crampbell pulls a map from_  
_the file, spreads it out. It shows the central and eastern U.S., with_  
_widely-spaced, hand-drawn markings._

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
Blue square for Belvedere, Ohio, where the Bimmel girl was abducted.  
Blue triangle where her body was found - down here in Missouri. Same  
marks for the other four girls, in different colors. This new one,  
today... washed up here.

Elk River, in West Virginia, about six miles below U.S. 79. Real  
boonies.

_**Jeanette:**_  
There's no correlation at all between where they're kidnapped and where  
they're found...?

_(he shakes his head)_

What if - what if you trace the heaviest-traffic routes backwards from  
the dump sites? Do they converge at all?

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
Good idea, but he thought of it, too. We've run simulations, using  
different vectors and the best dates we can assign. You put it all in  
the computer, and smoke comes out. No, this one is different. Then one  
has seen us coming...

_Campbell steers, following a highway patrol car along a winding_  
_mountain road. Jeanette has the file open on her lap. He glances at her,_  
_inscrutable behind his sunglasses._

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
Talk about him, Jeanette. Tell me what you see.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Alvin is a white male... Serial killers tend to hunt within their own  
ethnic group. And he's not a drifter - he's got his own house,  
somewhere. Not an apartment.

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
Why?

_**Jeanette:**_  
What he does with them - takes privacy... Time, tools... He's is in his late  
20's- he's got real physical strength, but now he's aged he has an  
older man's self-control. He's now cautious, precise, and never impulsive...  
This won't end in suicide, like they often do.

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
Why not?

_**Jeanette:**_  
He's got a real taste for it now. And he's getting better at his work.

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
Maybe you've got a knack for this... I guess we're about to find out.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Like I have a "knack" for Mckensie Bell?

_He studies her a few moments, measuring her anger._

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
Okay, Jeanette. Let's have it.

_**Jeanette:**_  
You haven't said a word today about that garage. Or what I found there.

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
What should I say? You did fine work. We'll wait on the lab.

_**Jeanette:**_  
You knew. You knew from the start that Mckensie Bell held the key to this...  
But you weren't up front with me. You sent me in to her naked. (hypoetically)

_**Campbell:**_  
Are you finished?

_**Jeanette:**_  
She starts this - buzzing in me, in my head. She makes me feel  
violated... You used me, Mr. Campbell.

_A shadow of regret passes over his face, but he answers sternly._

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
Number One. Maybe there's a connection, maybe not. Lying and breathing  
are the same thing to Meckensie. Number Two. If I'd sent you in there with  
something to hide from her, she'd have known it, instantly. she'd never  
have trusted you.

_She starts to answer, then is silent. He is right. By now the two cars_  
_are entering a tidy little town - tree-lined streets, wooden houses,_  
_one-story shops, mountains in the background._

_**CAMPBELL:**___  
Number Three, I didn't bring you along today just because you can do  
first-rate forensics. If Mekensie is becoming part of this case, you've  
got the most current read on her. And Number Four - you don't have to  
like me, or the way I do things. But you do have to keep a cool head.  
Especially now... Because from here on out, you'll know everything I  
do. Are we straight on that?

_Jeanette nods, silently; it's as close to an apology as she's likely to_  
_get. She stares out the windshield._

_The highway patrol cruiser noses into a curb, next to other police_  
_cars, facing a big white frame house. Its sign reads "Potter Funeral_  
_Home." Two troopers climb from the car._

_Campbell parks too, then kills the engine. He turns to her, removing_  
_his sunglasses, gestures to the case file._

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
You think about her long enough, you get a feel for her... Then, if  
you're lucky, out of all the stuff you know, one little part of it tugs  
at you, tries to get your attention... You let me know when that  
happens, Jeanette. Live right behind your eyes, today. Don't try to  
impose any patterns on this woman. Just stay open and let her show you...

_One of the troopers, impassive in his sunglasses and hat, peers in_  
_through Crampbell's window. Campbell nods to him, then turns back to_  
_Jeanette._

_**CAMPBELL:**_  
School's out, Miss Miller.

_**MR J.H.F: That's it now for me until the new year, I wish you all to have a merry christmas and a happy new year!**_

_**Oh yeah, don't forget to review.**_


	17. Quid Pro Quo, Mckensie

_**MR J.H.F:**__** Hi I'm back. Yeah it's been a while huh? Well I'm back now, With another Mckensie interview. Yay !**_

**17: Quid Pro Quo, Mckensie**

_Mckensie sits at her table, languidly sketching with charcoal on_  
_butcher paper. She uses her own hand and forearm as a model. Her other_  
_drawings, books, and bedding have been restored._

_**Mckensie:**_  
Wouldn't you say, Jeanette, that for a United States Senator, you're an  
odd choice of messenger?

_Jeanette, sitting again at the desk-chair, is taking papers from her_  
_briefcase._

_**Jeanette:**_  
I was your choice, Mckensie. You chose to speak to me. Would you  
prefer someone else now? Or perhaps you don't think you can help us.

_**Mckensie:**_  
That is both impudent and untrue... Tell me, how did you feel when you  
viewed our Alvin's latest effort?

Or should I say, his "next-to-latest"?

_**Jeanette:**_  
By the book, he's a sadist.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Life's too slippery for books, Jeanette. Typhoid and swans came from the  
same God.

Tell me, Miss Miller - was she a large girl?

_**Jeanette:**_  
Yes.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Big through the hips. Roomy.

_**Jeanette:**_  
They all were.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Mmm. And what else...?

**Jeanette:**  
She had an insect deliberately inserted in her throat. That hasn't been  
made public yet. We don't know what is means.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Was it a butterfly?

_**Jeanette:**_  
A moth... How did you predict that?

_**Mckensie:**_  
I'm waiting for your offer, Jeanette. Enchant me.

_Jeanette looks down at her papers, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. She looks up at_  
_Mckensie again, evenly._

_**Jeanette:**_  
If you help us find Alvin Seville in time to save Vinny Mathers, the  
Senator promises you a transfer to the V.A. hospital at Oneida Park,  
New York, with a view of the woods nearby. Maximum security still  
applies, but you'd have reasonable access to books.

_Mckensie is silent. She rises, moves closer, carrying papers._

_**Jeanette:**_  
Best of all, though - one week a year you'd get to leave the hospital  
and go here.

_(points to a map)_

Plum Island. Every afternoon of that week you can walk on the beach or  
swim in the ocean for up to one hour. Under SWAT team surveillance, of  
course...

_Mckensie's face remains neutral. Jeanette puts the papers in her food tray._

_**Jeanette:**_  
Copy of the Alvin Seville's case file, copy of Senator Martin's terms. Her  
offer is final and non-negotiable. If Vinny dies -

_(she slides her tray through)_

You get nothing.

_Mckensie rises smoothly, crosses, and looks down at_  
_the papers, without touching them._

_**Mckensie:**_  
"Plum Island Animal Disease Research Center." Sounds charming.

_**Jeanette:**_  
That's just part of the island. It has a very nice beach. Terns nest  
there.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Terns... If I help you, Jeanette, it will be "turns" with us, too. Quid  
pro quo. I tell you things, you tell me things. Not about this case,  
though - about yourself. Yes or no?

_(Jeanette is silent)_

Yes or no, Jeanette. Poor Vinny is waiting. Tick-tock, tick-tock...

_**Jeanette:**_  
Go, Mckensie.

_**Mckensie:**_  
What's your worst memory of childhood?

_**Jeanette:**_  
The death of my father.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Tell me. Don't lie, or I'll know.

_Jeanette cannot bear the feverish excitement in Mckensie's eyes. She looks past_  
_her, hesitating again._

_**Jeanette:**_  
He was a town marshal... one night he surprised two burglars, coming  
out the back of a drugstore... They shot him.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Killed outright?

_**Jeanette:**_  
No. He was strong, he lasted almost a month. My mother - died when I  
was very young, so my father had become - the whole world to me...  
After he left me, I had nobody, except my sisters. I was seven years old.

_**Mckensie:**_  
You're very frank, Jeanette. I think - it would be quite something to  
know you in private life.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Quid pro quo, Doctor.

_**Mckensie:**_  
The significance of the moth is change. Caterpillar into cocoon into  
beauty... Alvin wants to change, too, Jeanette. But there's the problem  
of his size, you see. Even if he were a woman, he'd have to be a big  
one...

_**Jeanette:**_

_(puzzled)_

Mckensie, there's no correlation in the literature between  
transsexualism and violence. Transsexuals are very passive.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Clever girl. You're so close to the way you're going to catch him - do  
you realize that?

_**Jeanette:**_  
No. Tell me why.

_**Mckensie:**_  
After your father's death, you were orphaned. What happened next?

_(Jeanette drops her gaze)_

I don't imagine the answer's on those second-rate shoes, Jeanette.

_**Jeanette:**_  
We went to live with many other children in a orhanage.

_**Mckensie:**_  
How long did you live there?

_**Jeanette:**_  
Two months.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Why so briefly?

_**Jeanette:**_  
I - ran away...

_**Mckensie:**_  
Why, Jeanette? Did the male staff fuck you?

_**Jeanette:**_

_(angrily)_

No.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Did they try to?

_**Jeanette:**_  
No...! Quid pro quo, Mckensie.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Alvin's not a real transsexual, but he thinks he is. He tries to be.  
He's tried to be a lot of things, I except.

_**Jeanette:**_  
You said - I was very close to the way we'd catch him.

_**Mckensie:**_  
There are three major centers for transsexual surgery: Johns Hopkins,  
the University of Minnesota, and Columbus Medical center. I wouldn't be  
surprised if Alvin has applied for sex reassignment at one or all of  
them, and been rejected.

_**Jeanette:**_  
On what basis would they reject him?

_**Mckensie:**_  
The personality inventories would trip him up. Rorschach, Wechsler,  
House-Tree-Person... He wouldn't test like a real transsexual.

_**Jeanette:**_  
How would he test?

_Suddenly Mckensie snarls, loudly, stretching. Jeanette take a sharp_  
_step backwards before Mckensie smiles, turning her movement into an elaborate_  
_yawn. She gathers the papers from her tray._

_**Mckensie:**_  
That's enough, I think. Happy hunting. Oh, and Jeanette- next time you  
will tell me why you ran away. Shall I summarize?

_**Jeanette:**_

_(shaken)_

Yes, Mckensie. Please.

_**MR J.H.F:**__** Please review and P.M me if you have any questions. Thanks for reading.**_


	18. The Hostage

_**18) The Hostage**_

_A shadowy male figure looks down, leaning over the edge of a deep_  
_hole. He holds a little white poodle in his arms, stroking it._

_**Alvin:**_

_(softly)_

Rub the cream on your skin. Rub it in gooood...

_Vinny Looks up at him. She is standing on the cement bottom of the pit, or_  
_oubliette, about 15 feet below floor level. The pit is bare, except for_  
_a futon and a plastic toilet bucket, from which a thin string rises up_  
_to the basement. She's soaking wet, in an orange jumpsuit, and holds a_  
_squeeze bottle of skin lotion. She struggles to sound calm._

**_Vinny:_**  
Alvin... my boyfreind will pay cash. Whatever ransom you're askin' for, he -

_**Alvin:**_  
Rub it in! Or you'll get the hose again.

_The little dog squirms in his arms, BARKING excitedly._

_**Alvin:**_

Yes, it will, Precious, won't it? It will get the hose!

_As Vinny kneels, turning slightly away from him._

_**Vinny:**_

_(under her breath)_

Oh God... oh God...

_She unzips her jumpsuit, part-way, then squeezes some of the lotion_  
_onto a palm. She reaches inside her suit, rubs it on._

_**Vinny:**_  
Alvin, if you let me go, I won't press charges, I promise. You've only  
has me here a couple days, and -

_**Alvin:**_  
You know what's funny ? You are my mother and this is the most time you and I have ever spent together. Better keep this quiet, don't Simon and Theodore getting jealous ...

_(Alvin smerks to himself.)_

All I need is one day.

_**Vinny:**_  
Is that all...? See - see, my boyfriend is a real important man... Well, I  
guess you already know that. he'll pay you, no questions asked.  
Whatever cause you represent - Iran, Palestine - he'll see that -

_A sudden blinding glare of light silences her. She looks up, shielding_  
_her eyes._

_Alvin sends a floodlamp descending, attached to a small basket._

**_Alvin:_**  
Put the bottle in the basket. No funny business, or you'll be sorry...

_As the basket stops, and she steadies it. But as she slips the bottle_  
_in, she sees something, out of vision., just at the fringe of the light._  
_She hesitates, looks closer... and see's high on the concrete walls, all around her - Bloody finger tracks. she then begins to scream, hysterically, again and again._

_The bloody finger tracks are Dried now, brownish - left by many pairs of frenzied hands..._

_**MR J.H.F:**_ _**Please review and PM me if you have any questions.**_  
_** Thanks for reading. **_


	19. The Phone Call

_**19: The Phone Call**_

Brittany wakes in the same position she fell asleep. In  
front of her is her empty glass. Set down not on top of the  
wood as she left it, but on a thick magazine.

She knows that's not right. Sits up enough to see the  
cover of the magazine. Italian Vogue. Edge of a Post-It  
peeking out from the pages. She uses the Post-It to turn  
to the marked page. A glossy Prada advertisement for  
expensive - unsensible - shoes.

He's been in her house. Right here as she slept. She's up  
fast, rushing to her bedroom. The the closet. Pulling down  
from the top shelf the box containing Alvin's guns and ID.

She slams a clip into the .45. As she's loading the little  
.38, the phone rings, startling her. She stares at it on the  
night stand next to the alarm clock: 10:30 A.M. It rings  
again. She slowly crosses toward it. Another ring. She  
lifts the receiver. Says nothing. Hears nothing. Until -

_**RECORDED VOICE:**_

_If you're not receiveing frequent flyer_  
_miles on your credit card, you're missing_  
_out on -_

She hangs up. Returns to loading the gun. The cell phone  
on her hip rings, and a bullet falls to the floor. She pulls  
the phone from its holster. Answers it, again, by saying  
nothing. Only listens. Hears a little static. Connection  
to another cell phone probably. Then -

_**Alvin's voice:**_

_The power on that battery is low,_  
_Brittany. I would've changed it, but I_  
_didn't want to wake you. You're going to_  
_have to use the other one. In the_  
_charger. Hopefully the light on it is_  
_green by now._

The charger is right in front of her on the dresser. And the  
light on it is green - fully charged.

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_

_- because this is going to be a long_  
_call and I can't let you off because -_  
_even though you've been stripped of your_  
_duties, I know you won't abandon them,_  
_you'll try to put on a trace. So we'll_  
_disconnect only long enough for you to_  
_exchange the battery in the phone for the_  
_one in the charger. Shall we say - three_  
_seconds? That should be enough. You can_  
_change the clip on a .45 quicker than_  
_that. So when I tell you to, disengage_  
_the dying battery. That'll disconnect_  
_us. I'll speed dial back. If you've_  
_succeeded in your task in the allotted_  
_time - wonderful. If not? Well maybe_  
_some other time. Are you ready?_

_**Brittany:**_  
_Alvin ? How could you fucking leave me like that ?! The things on the news aren't true are they ?_

_**Alvin:**_  
_Britt. We don't have much time. Are you ready?_

_**Brittany:**_  
_Yes._

the low battery falls away from the body of the phone into her hand, the  
charged one slapped in its place in just over two seconds.  
She hits the power button. The LCD display lights up and  
beeps. The phone rings and she flips it open.

_**Alvin's Voice:**_  
Very good.

_**Brittany:**_  
Thank you.

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
Get in your car.

She begins gathering the guns and holsters and ammo.

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_

_Oh, all right, bring the guns if you_  
_want. But remember, if you get caught_  
_with a concealed, unlicensed firearm in_  
_the District of Columbia, the penalty_  
_is pretty stiff._

She's in the far right lane of a highway. Keeping just under  
the speed limit. The cell phone rests atop the open ashtray.

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
The reason we're doing it like this,  
Brittany, is because I'd like to see you  
as we speak. With your eyes open. No,  
it doesn't excite me. Yes, it pleases  
me. You have very shapely feet.  
Call it out.

_**Brittany:**_  
Exit 14-A. Three hundred yards - two  
hundred - one hundred - fifty -

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
Take it.

Brittany veers onto the ramp without a signal. A van, several  
lengths back, takes the exit, too.

Brittany enters the huge, echoing interior of the station  
with a crush of travelers and Christmas shoppers. She has  
the phone to her ear, and through it, can hear the sounds not  
dissimilar to those around her.

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
_I thought, to begin, you might tell me_  
_how you're feeling._

_**Brittany:**_  
_About what?_

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
_The masters you serve and how they've_  
_treated you. Your career, such as it is._  
_Your life, Brittany._

The place is not just trains, but also a mall of stores, many  
of them playing Christmas music. Outside one of them, on the  
second tier, Alvin, cell phone to his ear, watches Brittany  
trying to sort out the cacophony of sounds down below.

_**BRITTANY'S VOICE:**_  
_I thought we might talk about yours._

_**Alvin**_:  
_Mine? What is there to say about mine?_  
_I'm happy. Healthy. A little nomadic at_  
_the moment but that'll soon change. You,_  
_though. You, I'm worried about._

Carlio and Perio, without phones, have entered the building  
and brush past people as they scan its interior, looking for  
and eventually spotting Brittany rising up an escalator.

_**Brittany:**_  
_I'm fine._

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
_No, you're not. You fell in love with_  
_the music - with The Institution - only_  
_to discover, after giving it everything -_  
_that it doesn't love you back. That it_  
_resents you, more than Me or_  
_your sisters ever could._

Alvin is going down an escalator as Brittany approaches  
where he was just moments ago, outside the Gap Kids store.

_**Alvin:**_  
_Why is that, do you think? Why are you_  
_so resented?_

_**BRITTANY'S VOICE:**_  
_Tell me._

**_Alvin:_**  
_Tell you? Isn't it clear? You serve_  
_the idea of order, Brittany - they don't._  
_You believe in the oath you took - they_  
_don't. You feel it's your duty to_  
_protect the sheep - they don't. They_  
_don't like you because they're not like_  
_you. They're weak and unruly and_  
_believe in nothing._

Brittany's lost him. She Peers down over the railing. Listens to the  
background sounds in her phone.

_**Brittany:**_  
_Jeanette says the F.B.I wants to kill you, Alvin. Turn yourself in to me and I_  
_promise no one will hurt you._

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
_Will you stay with me in my prison cell?_  
_Hmmm? I suppose it wouldn't be that much_  
_worse than yours._

She hears a bell clanging. Sees a Salvation Army "soldier"  
in the far distance below, his back to her, his arm moving up  
and down, but can't tell if it synchronizes with the sound in  
her phone.

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
_The F.B.I doesn't want to kill me, Brittany,_  
_any more than I wanted to kill them. They_  
_want me to suffer in some - unimaginable_  
_way. Their rather twisted, you know._  
_Always have been._

Brittany steps off the down escalator and heads toward the  
Salvation Army soldier and his little kettle hanging from the  
tripod, the bell in her phone diminishing proportionally, it  
seems, as she nears the live one.

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
_I want to know what it is you think you_  
_will do, now that all you cared about in_  
_the world is gone. Will you work as a_  
_chambermaid at a motel on Route 66, like_  
_my Mom?_

_**Brittany:**_  
_I don't know, Alv -_

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
_Don't you want to harm those who have_  
_forced you to consider it? I know you_  
_never would, but wouldn't you like to?_  
_Wouldn't it feel good? It's all right to_  
_admit it. It's perfectly natural. To_  
_want to taste the enemy._

She stops moving. Listens. Hears Jingle Bells in her phone.

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
_Are you thinking? Or tracking, Special Agent Jeanette ?_

Jingle Bells begins to fade in her phone. He's moving again.  
She turns. Carlo and Piero do an abrupt about-face. But not  
before Brittany sees them.

_**Brittany:**_  
_They're following me, Alvin._

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
_I know. I see them. Now you're in a_  
_real dilemma, aren't you?_  
_Do you continue to try to find me,_  
_knowing that you're leading them to me?_  
_Do you have so much faith in your_  
_abilites that you believe you could_  
_somehow - simultaneously - arrest me -_  
_and them? It could get messy, Brittany._  
_Like Miss Miller._

Brittany can hear another voice - both "live" and in the phone -  
"Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas" - and can see above heads in  
the distance, a department store Santa Claus in a painted  
plywood sleigh. She moves toward him.

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
_What if I did it for you?_

_**Brittany:**_  
_Did what?_

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
_Harmed them, Brittany. The ones who've_  
_harmed you. What if I made them scream_  
_apologies? No, I shouldn't even say it_  
_because you'll feel - with your perfect_  
_grasp on right and wrong - that you were_  
_somehow - accompli - even though you_  
_wouldn't be._

_**Brittany:**_  
_Don't - help me._

_**ALVIN'S VOICE:**_  
_No. Of course not. Forget I said it._

Brittany closing in on the sleigh and the barricade of kids and  
parents around it, her free hand settling on the stock of her  
.45, Carlo and Piero closing with her several steps back.

_**SANTA CLAUS:**_  
_Ho - Ho - Ho._

Alvin sees her and the Sardinians pushing through the crowd.

_**Alvin:**_  
_Ho, ho, ho, indeed. I think I'll be_  
_going now. I have some shopping to do_  
_anyway. Chin up, Britt. Merry_  
_Christmas._

He disconnects the call. Brittany breaks through the front  
of the crowd, moving just in front of the sleigh to scan the  
faces all around her. Alvin is gone.

_**MR J.H.F:**_ _**Wow. Chapter 11. I can't believe it was September when I started writing this story. I feels like I was writing chapter one just last week !**_

_**By the way I will be working on a new story soon. It will be a comedy, seen as "Alvin Seville My S**t life so far" was Such a success. It will be a spin time in the perspective of AJ (Alvin and Brittany's son)**_

**_Thanks for reading._**

**_Please review !_**


	20. Not To Be Trusted

_**This chapter might F**k up your head a bit. So enjoy ! =D**_

_**20) Not To Be Trusted**_

_Two sturdy, well-armed, veteran prison guards - are checking Mckensie's restraints with clever, careful fingers._

_**BOYLE:**_  
Welcome to Memphis, Miss Bell. I'm Officer Boyle, this is Officer  
Pembry. We aim to treat you just as nice as you treat us. Act like a  
lady, you'll get three hots and a cot.

_**PEMBRY:**_  
But we ain't pussy-footin' with you, buddy ruff. You get cute, try to  
bite somebody? - we'll tie your asshole in a knot. You savvy?

_**Mckensie:**_  
Oh yes, Officer Pembry. I certainly do.

_The officers turn away, Boyle signing a clipboarded form._

_**PEMBRY:**_  
(under his breath)

Shit, she's just an ol' broke-bitch. Won't be no trouble as all if she  
don't flip out.

_**BOYLE:**_  
Dr. Chilton...?

_Parked to one side: an EMS ambulance and four highway patrol cruisers; a dozen troopers stand quietly chatting and smoking over there. Prentiss is pacing impatiently, casting anxious glances towards the open hanger doorway._

_**BOYLE:**_  
If you'll please sign right here, sir, we'll have us a legal transfer.

_Chilton instinctively pats his shirt pocket for his gold pen; it's_  
_gone. He searches other pockets, with growing unhappiness._

_**BOYLE:**_  
Use mine.

_**PEMBRY:**_  
Here they come.

_Two black stretch limosines glide smoothly into the hangar, stop. Secret Service agents pour out of the lead car, form a cordon. A driver opens the rear door of the second car, and Krendler steps out, followed by Cody's assistant, with a briefcase, followed, as last, by Cody himself. Barely glancing around, he strides towards Mckensie._

_As he stops, struck by the bizarre spectacle of her restraints. The_  
_others instinctively keep a distance, but Chilton, with theatrical_  
_relish, unstraps and removes Mckensie's mask._

_**Dr Chilton:**_  
Senator Martin, meet Mckensie Jane Bell.

_They stare at one another for a long moment: Cody is tense, almost_  
_haggard, a madman with hir unearthly poise._

_**Cody:**_  
Mckensie, I've brought an affidavit guaranteeing your new rights...  
You'll want to read it before I sign.

_He assistant unsnaps his briefcase, reaches for the form._

_**Mckensie:**_  
I won't waste your time and Vinne's time bargaining for petty  
privileges. Jeanette Miller and that awful John Campbell have wasted  
far too much already. I only pray they haven't doomed the poor girl...  
Let me help you now, and I'll trust you when it's all over.

_**Cody:**_  
You have my word. Mckensie?

_Krendler raises a pad, poised to take notes._

_**Mckensie:**_

Alvin seville's real name is William Mathers. I met him just once. He was  
referred to me in April or May, 2006 , by my former patient Brittany Miller.  
They were lovers, but Brittany had become very frightened. William had murdered a transient, and - done things with the skin. He then changed his name to Alvin Seville. He soon had meet two male chipmunks in the woods, drugged their food and drink with Fluvoxamine to make them forget the first few years of their life so that he could pretend that he was thier brother for all these years - and of course because of those drugs -they belived him. He also drugged his mother and made her belive that he name was Alvin. Not to mention his wife, friends, stepfather, every single person he had come into contact with.

Except me of course.

And here we are almost seven years later. "Alvin" was a successful Pop star, but with all those lies that he convinced to society. He should have gone into acting.

_**KRENDLER:**_  
How did you know he was lying?

_**Mckensie:**_  
I have a masters PhD in psychology. So let's just say I can fuck with your head until the truth comes screaming out.

_**Cody:**_  
Why didn't he drug you then.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Because I told him not to. You see I can be very ...persuasive

_She flicks her tongue obscenely._

**Mckensie: **Did you ever preform Cunnilingus on Vinny Mathers ?

_**Cody:**_ ..Yes...Yes I did.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Dried your tongue, didn't it...?

_**KRENDLER:**_ You Vulger Cunt!

_**Mckensie:**_

Six foot one, strongly built, about 190 pounds. Hair brown, eyes pale  
blue. He'd be about 29 now. He said he lived in Philadelphia, but may  
have lied. That's really all I can remember, Cody - but if I think  
of any more, I'll let you know.

_**Cody:**_  
(to the others)

Let's go with it.

_They start towards the car, but Mckensie calls out, stopping Cody._

_**Mckensie:**_  
Cody...! You can't trust John Campbell or Jeanette Miller.

It's such a game with these people. They're determined to get the arrest for themselves. The "collar," I think they say.

_**Cody:**_  
Thank you, Mckensie. I'll keep it in mind.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Oh, and Cody...? Love you suit.

_**MR J.H.F: Thanks for reading and make sure to leave a review !**_

_**By the way, In future chapters I am still gonna call William**_ **"Alvin"** **_to make things less confusing. _**

**_PM if you have questions._**


	21. Jeanette's Memories

_**21) Jeanette's Memories**_

_Jeanette arrives at the old courthouse, which is a massive Gothic stronghold, outside there is a armada of police cruisers parked at the curb._

_Jeanette climbs from her rented car, SLAMMING the door angrily. Holding_  
_a rolled-up pile of papers - Mckensie's drawings - she starts_  
_determinedly up the steps. A nearby commotion makes her pause._

_Dr. Frederick Chilton in a sea of interviewers and mini-cams, is_  
_preening grandly._

_Jeanette carefully avoiding his gaze, slips up the steps and inside._

_Inside she sees a SGT. TATE, a Memphis policeman, she approaches the man before pulling out her ID card. The policeman studys Jeanette's ID. He looks up at her from his command desk, asking a bit doubtfully._

_**SGT. TATE:**_  
Are you with Mr. Krendler's people?

_**Jeanette:**_  
I just left him.

_**SGT. TATE:**_  
Access to Mckensie is strictly limited. We've been getting death threats.

_(hesitates again)_

Log in, and check your weapon.

_He picks up a phone, murmurs into it. As he does so, Jeanette glances_  
_around this main ground floor lobby._

_The building looks like an armed fort. Cops with shotguns guard the_  
_front door, both ends of the hall, the foot of the stairs, the single_  
_elevator. More of them are coming and going._

_Jeanette and OFFICER MURRAY, a young patrolman, ride up in an old-_  
_fashioned, CREAKING, metal-cage elevator. He is excited._

**_MURRAY: _**  
Shoot, we haven't had this kinda security since the President came  
through town...  
Every cop in Tennessee wants a look at this girl. 'Sit true what they're  
sayin' - she's some kinda vampire?

_**Jeanette:**_  
They don't have a name for what she is.

_After a short ride in the elevator Jeanette enters the Historical society room on the fifth floor. She quickly approaches Sargent Pembry, at a desk by the door, He looks up from examining the unrolled pile of Mckensie's drawings._

_**PEMBRY:**_  
You know the rules, ma'am?

_**Jeanette:**_  
Yes, Officer Pembry. I've questioned her before.

_He waves her on her way, but retains the drawings for now._

_As she crosses the big, spare, white octagonal room. A massive,_  
_temporary iron cage has been installed; Officer Boyle sits facing its_  
_barred door. He rises, nods, moving away to allow her privacy._

_Inside the cage there is a cot and a small table, each bolted to the floor, and a flimsy paper_  
_screen, hiding a toilet. Mckensie sits at the table, her back to Jeanette's,_  
_studying the Alvin Serville's case file. She now wears a blue prison_  
_jumpsuit. A small cassette player is chained to the steel table._

_**Mckensie:**_  
Good afternoon, Jeanette.

_Jeanette stops at a striped police barricade, before Mckensie's bars._

_**Jeanette:**_  
I thought you might want your drawings back... Just until you get your  
view.

_**Mckensie:**_  
How very thoughtful... Or did Campbell send you here for one last  
wheedle - before you're both booted off the case?

_**Jeanette:**_  
Nobody sent me. I came on my own.

_Mckensie spins in her swivel chair, stops neatly. Before making a coy smile._

_**Mckensie:**_  
People will say we're in love.

Pity you tried to fool me, isn't it? Pity for poor Vinny. Tick-  
tock...

_Mckensie spins again in her chair, playfully. Jeanette circles the cage, trying to keep her face in sight._

_**Jeanette:**_  
Mckensie, you find out everything. You couldn't have talked with this  
"William Mathers", even once, and come out knowing so little about him...  
You made him up, didn't you?

_**Mckensie:**_  
Jeanette... you're hardly in a position to accuse me of lying.

_**Jeanette:**_  
I think you were telling me the truth in Baltimore - or starting to.  
Tell me the rest now.

_**Mckensie:**_  
I've studied the case file, have you...? Everything you need to find  
him is right in these pages. Whatever his name is.

**_Jeanette:_**  
Then tell me how.

_**Mckensie:**_  
First principles, Jeanette. Simplicity. Read Marcus Aurelius. Of each  
particular thing, ask: What is it, in itself, what is its nature...?  
What does he do, this man you seek?

_**Jeanette:**_  
He kills w -

_**Mckensie:**_

_(sharply, as she stops)_

No! That's incidental.

_As she rises, pained by Jeanette ignorance, and crosses to the bars._

_**Mckensie:**_  
What is the first and principal thing he does, what need does he serve  
by killing?

_**Jeanette:**_  
Anger, social resentment, sexual frus-

_**Mckensie:**_  
No, he covets. That's his nature. And how do we begin to covet,  
Jeanette? Do we seek out things to covet? Make an effort to answer.

_**Jeanette:**_  
No. We just -

_**Mckensie:**_  
No. Precisely. We begin by coveting what we see every day. Don't you  
feel eyes moving over your body, Jeanette? I hardly see how you  
couldn't. And don't your eyes move over the things you want?

_**Jeanette:**_  
All right, then tell me how -

_**Mckensie:**_  
No. It's your turn to tell me, Jeanette. You don't have any more  
vacations to sell, on Plum Island. Why did you run away from that  
ranch?

_**Jeanette:**_  
Mckensie, when there's time I'll -

_**Mckensie:**_  
We don't reckon time the same way, Jeanette. This is all the time you'll  
ever have.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Later, listen, I'll -

_**Mckensie:**_  
I'll listen now. After your father's murder, you were orphaned. You  
were ten years old. You went to live with Sisters, on a orhanage Austrilia. And - ?

_**Jeanette:**_  
And - one morning we just - ran away...

_Jeanette turns from her. Mckensie presses closer, gripping the bars._

**_Mckensie:_**  
Not "just," Jeanette. What set you off? You started what time?

_**Jeanette:**_  
Early. Still dark.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Then something woke you. What? Did you dream...? What was it?

_***FLASHBACK***_

_**The 10-year old Jeanette sits up abruptly in her bed, frightened. She is**_  
_**in a orphange; it almost dawn. Strange, fearful shadows on**_  
_**her ceiling and walls... a window, partly fogged by the cold; eerie**_  
_**brightness outside.**_

_**Jeanette rises, then wakes Brittany and Eleanor. They Cross to the window in their nightgowns, then rubs the frosty glass. Outside the shadowy men, ranch hands, are moving in and out of a nearby barn, carrying mysterious bundles. The mens' breath is steaming... A refrigerated truck idles nearby, its engine adding more steam. A strange, almost surrealistic scene... The girls are terrified, they tightly close their eyes and cover their ears**_.

_**Jeanette:**_  
Screaming! Some kind of - screaming. Like a child's voice...

_**Mckensie:**_  
What did you do?

_**Jeanette:**_  
Got dressed without turning on the light. I went downstairs...  
outside...

_***Flashback***_

_**The Chipettes, in their winter coats, slips noiselessly towards the open**_  
_**barn door. They ducks into the shadows to avoid a ranch hand, who passes**_  
_**them with a squirming bundle of some kind. He goes into the barn, and**_  
_**They edges after him reluctantly.**_

_**As the open doorway LOOMS CLOSER... Bright lights inside, straw bales,**_  
_**the edges of stalls, then moving figures... They get closer and see...**_

_**A squirming lamb Is held down on a table by two ranch hands. A third cowboy stretches out the lamb's neck, raises a bloody knife. Before slitting its throat.**_

_**Jeanette:**_  
Lambs. The lambs were screaming..

_**Mckensie:**_  
They were slaughtering the spring lambs?

_**Jeanette:**_  
Yes...! They were screaming.

_**Mckensie:**_  
So you ran away...

_**Jeanette:**_  
No. First we tried to free them... I opened the gate of their pen - but  
they wouldn't run. They just stood there, confused. They wouldn't  
run...

_**Mckensie:**_  
But you could. You did.

_**Jeanette:**_  
We took one lamb. And we ran away, as fast as we could...

_**Mckensie:**_  
Where were you going?

_**Jeanette:**_  
I don't know. We had no food or water. It was very cold. I thought - if  
I can even save just one... but he got so heavy. So heavy...

_**Mckensie:**_  
But what became of your lamb?

_(no response)_

Jeanette...?

You still wake up sometimes, don't you? Wake up in the dark, with the  
lambs screaming?

_**Jeanette:**_  
Yes...

_**Mckensie:**_  
Do you think if you saved Vinny, you could make them stop...? Do  
you think, if Vinny lives, you won't wake up in the dark, ever  
again, to the screaming of the lambs? Do you...?

_**Jeanette:**_  
Yes! I don't know...! I don't know.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Thank you, Jeanette.

_**Jeanette:**_

_(a whisper)_

Tell me his name, Mckensie.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Dr. Chilton... I believe you know each other?

_As Jeanette turns, startled, and the fuming Dr Chilton seizes her elbow._  
_Pembry and Boyle are beside him, looking grim._

_**CHILTON:**_  
Out. Let's go.

_**PEMBRY:**_  
Sorry, ma'am - we've got orders to have you put on a plane.

_Jeanette struggles, pulling free of them for a moment._

_**Mckensie:**_  
Brave Jeanette. Will you let me know if ever the lambs stop screaming?

_**Jeanette:**_

_(moving closer to the bars)_

Yes. I'll tell you.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Promise...?

_(she nods. Mckensie smiles)_

Then why not take your case file? I won't be needing it anymore.

_Mckensie holds out the file, arm extended between the bars. Jeanette hesitates, then reaches to take it. As the exchange is made, Mckensie's index finger touches her hand, and lingers there, just for a moment._

_Mckensie's Widen, crackling at this touch, like sparks in a cave._

**_Mckensie:_**  
Good-bye, Jeanette.

_**MR J.H.F:**_ _**hmm, errie isn't it?**_

_**Exacly one year ago today, I started fanfiction. I just want to say, A lot has changed in a year!**_

_**Thanks for reading and Please**__**review.**_


	22. Mckensie's Escape

_**MR J.H.F:**__** You may have noticed that this story's rating has been changed. That's because we are reaching the climax of the story. So starting with this chapter things are gonna get violent and gory ! (especially the last 2 or 3 chapters) If you are offended by this, then ask yourself why you are reading my story's. There all violent, or have lots of profanity in them. So it's best you stay away from this and my other stories. Anyway here is chapter 22 " Mckensie's Escape" Enjoy! :)**_

_**22) Mckensie's Escape**_

The bach is issuing from the cassette player. Beside it, on the table, the pile of Mckensie's drawings. The top one is an accurate, sensitive portrait, from memory, of Jeanette. Beyond the table, Mckensie's shadowy form is seen, seated behind the paper screen. She calls out from there.

_**Mckensie:**_  
Just another minute, please!

_Pembry grunts, sets the tray down. Boyle joins him, handing him a riot_  
_baton and a Mace cannister, which Pembry fastens to belt clips. Boyle_  
_is similarly armed, and carries a ring of keys._

_**PEMBRY:**_  
Sumbitch demanded lamb chops for dinner, extra rare.

_**BOYLE:**_  
_(laughs)_

What you reckon she'll want for breakfast - some fuckin' thing from the  
zoo?

_Mckensie sits fully clothed on the toilet - swaying slightly, eyes_  
_closed, lost in the music, tongue working in her cheek. Suddenly, like_  
_magic, a little shiny piece of metal protrudes from her lips. She plucks_  
_it out, opens his eyes._

_She is holding the pocket clip from Prentice's disassembled pen - a_  
_straight, thin strip of metal, with a circular collar at one end, a_  
_square edge at the other._

_Mckensie lines up her thumbnail just shy of the square edge, then_  
_braces it against the stainless steel toilet rim. She pushes down, hard,_  
_using both hands for leverage. After a moment she smiles, holding up the_  
_result, and twirling it before her eyes._

_Pembry and Boyle turn as the toilet flushes, and Mckensie reappears,_  
_looking jaunty._

_**PEMBRY:**_  
Okay, Mckensie, on the floor. Same drill as lunchtime.

_Mckensie sits on the floor, legs straight, then wriggles backwards._  
_she stretches her arms behind her, hands and wrists through the bars,_  
_with two bars between them, and clasps her hands._

_**Mckensie:**_  
I'm ready when you are, Officer Pembry.

_Pembry comes around the cell to squat behind Mckensie. he tugs her_  
_hands farther out, rather roughly, handcuffs her wrists. He shakes the_  
_cuffs, making sure of them, then nods to Boyle._

_As Boyle picks up the dinner tray, and Pembry crosses around. Pembry_  
_takes the keys from Boyle, unlocks the cell door, and pushes it inward._  
_Boyle goes inside with the tray._

_Mckensie watches as Boyle approaches the table, above five feet from_  
_him. Boyle has to set his tray down on the floor to clear off some of_  
_the mess of drawings. The MUSIC plays on._

_Mckensie uses her hands, outside the bars, holding a piece of metal between the tips of her right index and middle fingers, searches for the keyhole of the cuffs. And finds it._

_As Boyle finishes clearing the drawings, then turns back towards Mckensie, stooping to pick up the tray. Boyle's right hand is just inches from the tray when Mckensie's hand darts, snapping a handcuff onto his wrist._

_Boyle looks up, astonished, to find himself right in the grinning face_  
_of Mckensie - who just as quickly rolls sideways, and snaps the other cuff around the bolted leg of the table. And suddenly all natural sound and motion are suspended, as the MUSIC soars much louder, each separate note of it now echoing distinctly, as Pembry is starting into the cell, reaching for his riot baton._

_Mckensie grabs the table knife off the dinner tray, then drives it into Pembry,pinning him across the chest. _  
_Against the door frame Boyle, on one knee on the floor, digging desperately in his pants pocket for his handcuff key. Pembry's hand, mashed against his body by the door, as he strains frantically to reach the baton at his waist. Pembry's eyes, widening in horror as he stares at Mckensie's bared teeth, flashing towards him._

_Mckensie gripping Pembry's face in her jaws, shaking it like a dog shakes a rat. _  
_Boyle finding his key, but in his terror dropping it. Mckensie yanking the mace can and riot baton from the dazed Pembry's belt, spraying him in his bloody face, then clubbing him to his knees._

_Boyle, mouth open in a silent scream, finding his key again, unlocking_  
_the handcuff, but then, as he starts to rise, seeing Mckensie standing over him, with the riot baton raised high; she swings it viciously down, again and again and again... Until Officer Boyle is dead._

_The calm classical music from the cassette player, is still playing and the portrait of Jeanette, both now flecked with blood._

_Eyes closed, lost in a favorite passage of the music. Mckensie's bloody fingers drift airily with the notes, as her breathing slows to normal._  
_She opens his eyes, sighs contentedly, looks down. at the sprawled legs of Boyle. Mckensie sees various objects that spilled from Boyle's pants pocket - coins, a comb and a big pocketknife._

_Mckensie picks up the pocketknife, examines it happily. About a four-inch blade. She becomes aware of the whimpering heard from officer Pembry._

_As Pembry crawls, with torturous slowness, towards the command desk, and_  
_the phone. He is crying, but frantically determined. Mckensie follows, carrying her pocketknife._

_**Mckensie:**_  
Ready when you are, Officer Pembry...

_**MR J.H.F:**_ _**Tell me what you think about this chapter, I'm sorry about taking ages to update. I'm writing 2 story's at once so I'm kind of spinning plates here. :)**_

_**Thanks for reading !**_


	23. Mckensie's Escape: Part 2

**_MR J.H.F: _****_I know I have a lot to explain. It's almost been a month. The reason it took so long was because my internet was not working for days and I kept getting distracted with other stuff. ( going to Thorpe Park which is like a 4 hour drive from where I live so I stayed overnight.) Anyway here is chapter 23. It's short. I'm a lazy bastard. :) _**

**_23: Mckensie's Escape: Part 2_**

On the ground floor Jacob, sits on the desk's edge, flipping through a magazine; many more cops can be seen beyond him, idling in the lobby. Stood next to him is Sargent Tate. Both officers look at the elevator and watch the indicator move. The arrow points further down from level five – right down to three. ' What is this shit? ' confused Sargent Tate asks to his fellow police officers. He holds his handheld transceiver and calls all units to the lobby. 'Shit, it could be Mckensie, It's best we split up and cover all hallsways, remember make sure your armed and ready, we all know this bitch can bite ! '. And without a moment to spare they split up into several groups following the orders of Sargent Tate. Moments after the team reached the fifth floor where they found the scene from hell – A blood soaked body on the floor and a body chained to the front of the cage where Mckensie was once imprisoned. The body had it's stomach and body fluids ripped out. The man's intestines slowly swong below and the blood dripped down like leaky tap water.

' Holy mother of god ! ' one of the police officers shouted at the horror they saw before them. The other body on the floor had the 6 inch blade which Mckensie had previously used. The officer could feel the pulse on the neck of the cold, almost lifeless body. ' Sargent Tate ! We got one alive here !'

**_*1 hour later*_**

The ambulance has racing at speed down the highway towards the hospital. The body rose from the stretcher. The person took a layer of skin off their face. Took it off like a mask. It was Mckensie. Before the paramedics could even scream, she bite into their cheeks. And shot them with the gun, from the officer she had already killed. She kicked the driver out of the ambulance onto the highway and drives down the highway at full speed – with the emergency siren still intact.

**_MR J.H.F_****_: Thanks for reading, and don't forget to tell me what you think !_**


	24. Dinner For Three

**_24) Dinner For Three_**

Brittany's eyes open as she slowly take in her surroundings:

the small, unfamiliar room, the bed she's in, the night stand

and the empty morphine vials on it, the silver tray with the

crumpled bullet on it.

She eases the blanket down enough to see her T-shirt, eases

the T-shirt up enough to see the bandage, ease the bandage

away enough to see the stitched gunshot wound.

She hears quiet Christmas music and muffled voices from

elsewhere in the house. Two men speaking in conversational

tones. She drags herself from the bed, steadies herself,

slowly crosses the room to, and down, a hallway.

At the end of it, she see: A decorated Christmas tree.

An archway to a dining room, candles on the dining table.

Vinny, in her running clothes and sweatband, sitting at

the head of it. Alvin, standing beside a portable grill on

a service cart, stirring at a saute pan with a wooden spoon.

**_Vinny:_**

_Are those shallots?_

**_Alvin:_**

_Ummm. And caper berries._

**_Vinny_**

_The butter smells wonderful._

Brittany glances from Vinny's face to her hands. She

doesn't seem to notice or care that they're duct-taped to the

arms of a wheelchair.

Back in the bedroom, Brittany uses her teeth to strip the

4-pin telephone wire that's been yanked from the wall jack.

In the dining room. Alvin executes a modest flambe with a little brandy -

**_Alvin:_**

_I hope you're hungry, Mom._

**_Vinny:_**

_Very. What's the main course?_

**_Alvin:_**

_Oh, you never ask. It spoils the_

_surprise._

Alvin notices, but seems unconcerned, as the line-light

blinks on a telephone.

In the bedroom Brittany searches drawers for some kind of weapon as she

whispers into the phone -

**_Brittany:_**

_I don't have the address, but I think_

_the house belongs to the hostage, whose_

_name is Vinny Mathers._

**_911 OPERATOR:_**

_I have it from the phone number. Now_

_if you can safely do it, get out of the_

_house. Otherwise, stay on the line where_

_you are. The response time should be ten_

_minutes. I'm putting you on hold for_

_just a moment._

Brittany hears an unusual sound from the other room, but

not so unusual that she doesn't recognize it: It's the whir

of an autopsy saw. She sets the receiver on the bed.

**_911 OPERATOR:_**

_I'm back. Ma'am - ?_

The phone goes dead as Brittany yanks the 25-foot cord from

the wall and wraps it quickly around her hand, taking it with

her, perhaps to use as a garrote, as she leaves the room.

She moves along the hall again. Hears the whir of the

saw grinding through - something - then stop. She picks up a

heavy glass paperweight from a bookcase shelf and conceals it

in her hand.

She reaches the doorway to the living room and adjacent

dining area and Sees Alvin straightening Vinny's sweatband.

The red-clad munk glances up and regards her calmly.

**_Alvin:_**

_Brittany. What are you doing up?_

_You should be resting. Get back to bed._

**_Brittany:_**

_I'm hungry._

Vinny's head slowly turns to follow her as she crosses

into the dining room unsteadily.

**_Brittany:_**

_Hello, Vinny._

She doesn't respond. She is in some kind of trance.

**_Alvin:_**

_Mother. Don't be rude. Say hello to_

_My wife._

**_Vinny:_**

_Hello, Brittany. I always wanted to_

_Meet you._

As Alvin lays out another place setting of fine china (but

not silverware) for Brittany, she sees the spent syringe and

the autopsy saw on a trivet next to the butane grill.

**_Alvin:_**

_Mother. Would you like to say grace?_

**_Vinny:_**

_Me? Grace? Okay_.

She bows her head. Alvin and Brittany don't. Brittany glances to

the twisting pendulum of a hurricane clock. Alvin just smiles faintly, well aware of the response time.

**_Vinny:_**

_Father, we thank thee for the blessings_

_we are about to receive and dedicate them_

_to Thy mercy. Forgive us all, even white_

_trash like Brittany here, and bring her_

_into my service. Amen._

As her head comes back up, a single rivulet of blood drips

out from under her sweatband. Alvin stirs at his beurre-

noisette.

Alvin smiles rather stupidly at Brittany. As much as she

hates him, she doesn't want to see what Alvin has

in store for her, and tries to forestall it with conversation

and requests -

**_Brittany:_**

_May I have some wine?_

**_Alvin:_**

_I don't think that's a good idea,_

_Brittany. Not with the morphine. Better_

_you should have some broth._

**_Vinny:_**

_By the way, Brittany, that was a job_

_offer I worked into the blessing. I'm_

_going to Congress, you know._

**_Brittany:_**

_Are you?_

**_Vinny:_**

_Come around campaign headquarters._

_You could be an office girl. Can you_

_type and file? Can you take dictation?_

_Take this down: Washington is full of_

_cornpone country pussy._

**_Alvin:_**

_Mother. Please. Now you are being rude._

_Drink your broth._

As Alvin puts a straw in the tureen to Vinny's lips

and whispers something in her ear, Brittany eyes the sharper

utensils on the other side of the table next to the grill.

**_Vinny:_**

_This soup's not very good._

**_Alvin:_**

_I admit I added a little something extra_

_to yours. Perhaps it's clashing with the_

_cumin. I assure you, though, you'll love_

_the second course, that is if I can serve_

_it before Brittany bashes my head in._

He commands her to show him what's in the hand in her lap

with a smile and a slight tip of his head. She obeys,

setting the paperweight weapon on the table.

Alvin rakes it across to Vinny with a folk like a croupier.

As Vinny shakes it and watches snow fall on the Capital

building, She is oblivious to Alvin taking off her sweatband

revealing the neat incision carved all the way around her head.

Brittany can do little more than watch as Alvin lifts

the top of his mothers head off - staring in disbelief at the

pinky-gray dome of Vinny's exposed brain. Alvin reaches

for a set of tonsil spoons as the butter in the saute pan

sizzles to a golden brown.

**_Brittany:_**

_I really would like some wine._

Alvin, poised over Vinny's brain with the tongs, looks at

Brittany disapprovingly. She's holding out her empty glass like

Oliver as the pendulum twists back and forth.

**_Alvin:_**

_All right. But just a little._

He sets the spoons down. Pours some Chateau d'Y quem into

her glass as he glances to the twisting pendulum.

**_Alvin:_**

_Unlike My mother, I unfortunately can't_

_offer you a job in government. But I am_

_curious. What will you do now?_

Right now Brittany's hand is slowly inching across the tablecloth

toward a serrated knife. Alvin picks it up and one of the

tongs and deftly severs the thalamus of his own mothers brain -

**_Brittany:_**

_Al-_

**_Alvin:_**

_You certainly can't return to_

_Harchester Hill. Not that you'd want to. Even_

_if you could convince me to take you_

_back after all this, the Stain of Fear would never go away._

Vinny's eyes look up as if to see what's going on, then

follow Alvin's hands as he sets his prefrontal lobe in the

saute pan.

**_Vinny:_**

_What did you say?_

**_Brittany:_**

_I didn't say anything._

**_Vinny:_**

_I had plans for that smart mouth, but_

_I'd never hire you now. Who gave you an_

_appointment anyway?_

Alvin picks up the tongs again to scoop out another lobe of Vinny's brain.

**_Alvin:_**

_The brain itself feels no pain, Brittany,_

_if that concerns you. And my crack-head mother certainly won't miss this - the prefrontal lobe is the seat of manners._

_….Brittany, I think a new life lies before you. A better life. With me?_

_...I came halfway around the world just to_

_watch you run in the woods. Run with me,_

_Brittany..._

**_Vinny:_**

_Who's Brittany?_

**_Alvin:_**

_My Wife. Mother. If you can't keep_

_up with the conversation, it's better you_

_don't try to join in at all._

Alvin sets the plates and sauce pan and all the utensils -

including the knife - in Vinny's lap, and unlocks the

wheels of the chair.

**_Alvin:_**

_I'll just be a minute cleaning up,_

_Brittany. Don't get up, my mother will help me_

_clear. It is Our Anniversary, after all…._

As Alvin pushes Vinny toward the kitchen, he glimpses

on the way the headlights of a line of cars coming silently along the shoreline.

**_Alvin:_**

_Think about what I said, but don't drink_

_any more wine while you do._

As soon as the door to the kitchen swings shut, Brittany gets

up, too fast, almost faints, sits back down. Listening for a

moment to the scraping of plates, she tries again to stand,

slower this time. She blows out a candle, grasps the stem of

the heavy brass holder and with it and the phone cord, slowly

crosses toward the closed kitchen door.

She slowly eases it open, revealing: Alvin, his back to

her, scraping the leftovers into Vinny's head and setting

the plates neatly in the dishwasher. He closes its door then

and switches it on, and, keeping his back to her, begins

wiping down the counters with a dish towel.

She eases past the door, gripping the heavy candlestick, and

slowly approaches Alvin from behind, grateful for the hum of

the dishwasher that covers the creaking of the floorboards.

Vinny is staring right at her as he shakes his Capital

paperweight. Brittany places a finger to her lips to tell her not

to speak, Vinny glances away to the tiny falling snow.

**_Vinny:_**

_Would you like to swing on a star -_

_Carry moonbeams home in a jar -_

The candlestick comes up and hangs there - as if Brittany

isn't entirely sure she wants to crack Alvin's skull open -

but then it does come down hard right at his head, and -

Turning, Alvin catches her wrist in his hand and pushes her

roughly against the refrigerator, toppling the wheelchair and

his mother, the rest of his brain and some leftovers spilling

onto the floor. Alvin holds Brittany firmly in his grip,

staring at her, intending, it appears, to kill her. But

then, quietly -

**_Alvin:_**

_That's my girl. If you hadn't tried,_

_I would have killed you ... But don't try_

_again ... I mean it._

He lets her hands go and she immediately lunges for him

again. He grabs her wrists again, pushes her back up against

the fridge, opens it enough to catch her ponytail in the door

and shoves the candlestick through the side-by-side handles.

**_Alvin:_**

_Oh, Britt, you are the honey in the_

_lion. In times to come, whenever you see_

_yourself naked, whenever you see the scar_

_- the quality of the stitching - you'll_

_remember this moment -_

His face, his sharp teeth, come threateningly close to her.

He kisses her passionately on her lips.

**_Alvin:_**

_- and your lips will burn._

He steps away, past Vinny and the wheelchair, He picks up

a small Tupperware container from the counter and walks out,

leaving her to try to free herself.

**_MR J.H.F:_** **_Thanks for reading, Tell me what you think ! and if you have any questions, don't be scared to ask me._**


End file.
